Behind Enemy Lines
by Namariel
Summary: Reposting in FFnet due to death of Twilighted account. Started out as a rescue mission, until Masen's 'copter went down in flames. Now he's stuck in enemy territory with Bella Swan and a whole lot of background issues.
1. Crash Boom Bang

Ok, I am posting this here because I assassinated my Twilighted account. I'm not looking for traffic or reviews and I haven't reconsidered my flouncing situation--in fact if anything I am happier than ever that I decided to walk out. But I know some people wanted to read this and didn't have the chance or wanted to re-read it and have it available, so here it is.

I'm not going to be re-reading this msyelf so if you see grammar mistakes, shake your fist at my old beta from back then and please don't bring it up to me. I'm not going to fix them anyway.

I'll be posting as quickly as I can so we can get this over and done with as soon as possible for those who want it. I think the limit is a chapter a day, not sure. We'll see.

* * *

**Chapter 1. Crash, Boom, Bang. /Edward/**

_How many roads must a man walk down_

_Before you call him a man?_

_Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail_

_Before she sleeps in the sand?_

_Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly_

_Before they're forever banned?_

_The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,_

_The answer is blowin' in the wind._

Why he had joined the Navy I would never understand.

He was so obviously a pacifist, a calm, gentle man. He never even raised his voice.

Right now the sound of his velvety southern drawl filled my Black Hawk helicopter, sounding softly through my earplugs, only slightly muffled by the noise around us. His voice was like a balsam, so soft and pure that he didn't need to scream for us to hear him sing, even over the sound of the rotor, or the wind whipping past us.

"Airfield Command, this is Hawkeye 07, we just overflew PGH-113 and are now entering radio silence area." I communicated to the watch tower of the US Navy Aircraft Carrier _Forks_.

"_Hawkeye 07, this is Airfield Command. Stay with Hawkeye 03 and keep a low profile. Don't shoot until attacked. We expect next communication at 1900 hours_."

"Roger that, A.C." I said and killed the radio.

_How many times must a man look up_

_Before he can see the sky?_

_Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have_

_Before he can hear people cry?_

_Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows_

_That too many people have died?_

_The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,_

_The answer is blowin' in the wind._

I tilted the helicopter slightly to the right to follow Hawkeye 03's smooth turn and lowered the vessel closer to the ground, still staying quite clear of the treetops. We were about a hundred miles from Pickup, heading east.

Below us the ground was covered in wild forests and undulating over mountains and hills. Wherever there wasn't a blanket of white snow, there was brown and jade green. We passed over a glossy lake, still not frozen by the cold.

I was used to taking geographical reference points, not always willing to rely on the GPS. The digital systems were nearly error-proof, but I preferred to be certain. I engraved in my memory where the lake was and then checked altitude, speed and engines again. We were comfortable with the fuel; we had plenty of it to come and go at full speed if necessary.

Whitlock's voice kept singing gently.

_How many years can a mountain exist_

_Before it's washed to the sea?_

_Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist_

_Before they're allowed to be free?_

_Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,_

_Pretending he just doesn't see?_

_The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,_

_The answer is blowin' in the wind._

The song ended and his voice died down, smooth like silk.

Whistles and claps filled the silence left behind, and I smiled.

"_Are they always like this?_" a calm voice asked through the intercoms, amused. I figured, since I was the only one not participating—my hands were on the commands—that he was talking to me.

"Pretty much. Sometimes he sings Nirvana and they just go crazy."

The Doc laughed. I felt apprehensive that he was with us. He wasn't a combat surgeon; he had never been in a field mission. But he was the best doctor aboard the _Forks_ and we were lucky to have him. I just wanted to make sure he was safe all the time. He was deep in the cockpit, not nearer the gates. I was relieved he had been placed there, surrounded and thus shielded by the men.

He looked completely out of character in battle gear. I didn't like it. He was too much of a good man, too pure.

I knew that thinking a man his age—nearer to forty than to thirty—was innocent was stupid. But he was, in so many ways. It was one thing to fish a bullet out of a man's leg, and another thing entirely to see the bullet get in there. He knew how to handle a gun but I doubted he'd ever shot one in his life. At least not at someone.

Plus, he was too blond and too handsome.

I snickered at that. I was so shallow sometimes. But then again, one couldn't be serious all the time; some vanity was good for the soul.

There was a broken down statue overlooking an old graveyard to my starboard side. I stored it as a geographical reference and then lined it up with the GPS location, for greater certainty.

A loud 'yahoo' startled me out of my reverie and I winced.

"Keep it down, Birkoff." I ordered.

"_Sorry, Masen_." His booming voice laughed. "_But you're a whiny bitch_."

"Watch it, Birkoff, or I'm tossing you out of my ship."

"_Your ship? Buy it, did you?_"

"Why yes. Pocket change. A Hawkeye all to myself. You know I hate traffic jams in the city so this looked like a good idea." I said ironically, and instantly regret it. Oh please just let it go, Emmet. Please.

"_Oh guys, you know Masen's a millionaire, right?_" Emmet teased.

I coursed under my breath. "Shut the fuck up, Birkoff."

He laughed again and I resisted the urge to lurch in the air; I knew he hated when I did that. But I was worried about Doc Cullen, I wasn't sure how many times he had been in a helicopter but introducing him to evasive actions merely to annoy my friend seemed unnecessary.

"_Come now, guys_." Jasper's southern lilt said reasonably. "_Let there be peace, eh?_ _We've got plenty trouble down there_."

I had to agree.

Hawkeye 03, in front and a point to larboard, was in a rescue mission. It was supposed to be a simple in-'n-out thing but it was always best to be prepared, so Hawkeye 01 and I were at his tail. I checked 01's position to starboard and nodded. He was keeping a constant speed. Their pilot was a new guy from Washington and this was his first field trip.

I wished him luck but above all I hoped he didn't get in my way. I flew better with clear skies. I hadn't gained the reputation of the best combat pilot out there for my pretty face, either.

"_How 'bout some Dave Matthews Band now, Houston?_"

Rosalie. That was another fluke of nature. How many gorgeous, sexy girls like her joined the US Navy instead of running for America's Next Top Model? And she would have kicked ass at it too. Maybe even literally—the blond had a character to her. I sure as hell didn't want to cross her path on a bad day. She was shallow, vain and proud, but a good person. And one hell of a fighter. I'd lost track of how many martial arts black belts she had or how many weapons she could handle—she was the elite of the Navy and again, we were lucky to have her.

We were obviously intended as weapon support because we had the best fighter and the best doctor, whilst Hawkeye 03 got that asshole James Havoc and that medic, Laurent. I smirked to myself. Cullen was such a great guy.

I sobered at the thought, though. He was in my bird, he was my responsibility and I was determined to get him home safe. His wife was waiting for him back at home, probably cooking pie in some paradisiacal suburb.

I reviewed the details of the briefing earlier that day. Rescue mission. Two American news reporters were stuck behind enemy lines. They were being chased because they got some interesting pictures and stories and they had no way to get out, except being ripped right out by us.

Isabella Swan and Alice Brandon were their names. Isabella was the photographer. Alice was the news anchor. What two young American girls were doing in this fucked up war zone, I had no idea and it irritated me that they would stupidly put themselves in such a position.

I hated rescue missions.

I was a combat pilot, not a fireman looking for the kitten on the treetop.

I glanced at the GPS and realized we were one point from Pickup. Less than two minutes.

_You cannot quit me so quickly_

_Is no hope in you for me_

_No corner you could squeeze me_

_But I've got all the time for you, love_

_The space between, the tears we cry_

_Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more_

_The space between, the wicked lies we tell_

_And hope to keep us safe from the pain_

I liked it better when Jasper had his guitar with him. It was so old and banged up it was almost pitiable, but I could appreciate good music and Jasper Whitlock sure was one hell of a musician. I wondered still how he'd ended up in the _Forks_, or in the Navy for that matter. What, you don't get a record contract so you automatically enlist? Hardly.

I feared he was a dreamer. Did he think he could change things from within, stop the war, and bring peace? I hoped he didn't because he would be sorely disappointed. That was just not how things went along—

Hawkeye 01 to starboard exploded. I was momentarily shocked as the blast wave hit my bird and made us stagger to the side. The rotor flinched, hit by some piece of flying debris. Then my tail rotor hesitated and the helicopter made a wild turn to the left, following the main rotor. I clenched my teeth and tried to yank the bird back into control. Alarms and warnings were beeping like mad all around me and I was plummeting to the ground.

First I needed the tail rotor back. I switched it a dozen times before it reacted and the bird balanced back. The starboard stub wing crashed into a tree and I realized how very low we had fallen. I needed to get back up, but until I knew where the attack had come from. Ahead, below, behind? Was it airborne? Where the fuck was Hawkeye 03!?

Hawkeye 01 was down for sure. I wondered how old the new pilot, Jacob Black, had been. Not older than twenty three, I was sure.

I realized the starboard wing had lost the fuel tank upon impact. Shit. I needed to lose the counterpart on larboard to restore balance but I was almost sure that with what I had left of the main tank I couldn't get us all the way back to home base.

Shit. Fuck.

Another explosion and fire erupted below and in front of us. Hawkeye 03 went down in flames.

So much for the rescue mission. I lowered the nose to win some height and pass clear out of the crash site and I refused to look down and see what had remained. They were gone. I needed my mind on track. I could panic later.

"Hold on tight, boys and girl." I grunted. "We're in for a bumpy ride."

Evasive maneuvers were my forte. I made a close call to starboard and shot to the air, making a wide circle above the crash site. I was a sitting duck, but I needed to get the location of the enemy, and for that I needed to be shot at.

Incoming.

Eight o'clock from my current position. Gotcha.

I dropped altitude and evaded brusquely to the left. The missile was luckily not a heat tracker and it exploded into the forest.

Greenpeace would have my head.

My copilot, Mike Newton, was at my side, preparing for battle. That was how it was—I drove, he shot. I didn't like him one bit, but he worked well enough. He was just so annoying.

He shot the missile in the right stub wing and I saw a tank fly in pieces.

Mike yelled, but I wasn't so happy. Tanks don't shoot air missiles, you stupid fuck.

Sure enough, two more missiles were airborne. Again, I dropped to the left and down. I could avoid them by climbing altitude but the helicopter was faster in fall, and I needed speed. I angled us and overflew the spot where I knew the missiles came from.

They had a counter air missile bed there. Shit. They were more than ready for us.

I climbed altitude and made a wide circle to return. Mike was at the ready with the missile. I couldn't fuck up or we'd be dead, we'd only had one chance to do this and besides we only had one other missile. Mike had better not miss.

He didn't. The missile bed exploded nicely and I took to the air immediately, hoping to avoid the heat blast. I turned tail and headed back in my original direction.

Two birds down. 2 pilots, 14 troops each, 16 men per bird. 32 men down. 32 American soldiers down in enemy ground with slim to none chance to recover the remains.

I would _finish this mission_. I was going to find those fucking girls and bring them home and that was _it_. 32 men would not die for nothing.

And they had better be worth the fucking sacrifice or I was going to put a bullet through them myself!

"_Are we in radio silence still?_" Jasper asked, his voice shaky.

"Yes." I said sharply. "The mission is not done yet. We're not going back."

"_But don't we have to alert…?_"

"Radio silence." I barked.

I could see Pickup now. It was a wide hill with no trees on the top. The girls were nowhere to be seen but as I rounded and descended slightly they came darting out of the tree cover at the foot of the hill. I couldn't see them very well but one had flowing brown hair and the other was very small and thin.

"Prepare for pickup." I said, and angled the helicopter down as Emmet and Jasper strapped themselves to the harnesses to rappel down to the ground. I couldn't land, not on hostile territory. But I went down as far as I could to win some cover from the trees around us. I was a fucking sitting duck up here. I might as well paint a red target in our side.

"Men off." Emmet announced and fell off the side of the helicopter. Jasper joined him a heartbeat later and I checked the balance carefully, hovering perfectly still in the air.

An alarm shrieked in the controls. I couldn't make a wild turn with the two of them hanging from my sides. The only thing I could do was dip the nose and lift the tail, hoping to offer fewer surfaces and miss death by an inch. I hoped I hadn't slammed them into the ground, how much had they rappelled down before I dipped?

The missile ripped the tail rotor right off along with half the tail. I cursed loudly and did the only thing you could do when you lost your tail rotor—I killed the main engine and the main rotor, hoping to avoid the helicopter form twirling madly. It didn't stop fast enough and we started giving wild turns. Inertia kept my men from flying out, but I needed to get them on the ground and if it was in one piece better yet.

Attempting to control the bird was almost ridiculous in the situation, but I forced the controls anyway, maybe only out of sheer stubbornness. There was probably a God out there because the helicopter straightened slightly. I slammed it to starboard and hoped that same God was in a good mood because I would need His help. The main rotor blades sank into the ground viciously. The bird came to a brusque halt and I slammed against the harness. Something in my right flank broke. I hope it didn't splinter.

The blades snapped and we fell on our roof. The rotor engine sank on the ground and tore off a big chunk of frozen earth as we continued to roll.

And then, it stopped. The helicopter rocked on its wheels and came to a standstill. I blinked. We'd made it.

I looked to my right. Newton was looking as stunned as I did. Shattered glass had made a deep cut on his forehead. It would probably leave a scar. His blue eyes looked hazy, dizzy. I couldn't blame him.

"Troop?" I croaked out.

Nothing.

Shit-fuck! _Fuck_! I'd killed my men!

I unstrapped the harness and staggered to my feet. I grasped Newton's shoulder firmly and then passed to the back.

Rosalie and seven more of the men were still here. Rose looked unconscious but otherwise unharmed. The rappel cords Emmet and Jasper had used had been severed close to the anchors—someone had cut them loose. Good choice. It was better to fall down and land as gently as possible than being dragged down by a falling Black Hawk.

A grunt to my immediate left had me kneeling by Doc Cullen, who was sprawled on his back against the wall. His bottom lip sported a nasty cut, but he looked well enough. I offered my hand and cringed, clutching my abdomen.

Doc shot into action. His hands were insistent on my torso as the men started moving about, perfectly alert. I gasped loudly when his fingers found the right spot.

"Broken rib." He determined.

"Wonderful."

Rose was coming to. One of the men helped her up. There was a nasty bruise forming on her cheekbone and forehead but she would live.

Just then Emmet and Jasper popped into our right gate. Emmet's face was scratched badly on the left side—he'd collided badly against the frozen ground. Jasper was clearly favoring his right shoulder. It was probably dislocated. The two girls were with them, looking horrified and pale. I ignored them, furious at their very existence.

"We gotta talk to the _Forks_." Emmet said, helping Rose up. I nodded at him, too focused on not flinching under Doc's hands to pay attention. The enemy already knew we were down, there was no need to keep radio silence and it was fundamental to let them know our situation.

"Airfield Command, this is Hawkeye 07." Emmet said into his mouthpiece. "We're down; I repeat we're down at Pickup. We were grounded. The bird is lost, we're minus" he looked around "five."

Five men. Five more. 37.

"_Hawkeye 07, what's the status of the other two birds?_"

"Both down to ground and lost."

"_Do you have the cargo, Hawkeye 07?_"

"Cargo is secured."

"_This is what'll happen. You will move from Pickup twenty points to a friendly zone and you will be recovered by birds at 2100 hours of the third of November. Check your chart_."

Emmet displayed his chart on the helicopter's ground and looked about for a second. "I got the friendly zone. We'll be there, A.C."

Third of November. We were at the twenty ninth of October. They needed time to diffuse the situation, they needed to give the enemy time to think there would be no more birds so they could sneak a couple in, and we needed time to get to the pickup spot with our injuries.

And the god damned cargo.

I glanced at the chart to distract myself as Doc undid my shirt and looked at my bare chest.

There was a city nearby, perhaps two days' walk from here. It was medium sized. It was most likely full out war zone, but if needed be it would provide cover and refuge. I located it in my mind, seeking to orient myself. I took my compass from my leg pocket and studied it.

"We can't stay much longer, Doc. Make a quick work of it." Rosalie said, getting to her feet and jumping off the gate.

"I'm going to spray you with a painkiller and bandage you." Doc Cullen said. "It will be a temporary solution and I need to make a better job of it as soon as possible, but it will get you through the day. You can't force yourself. If you can't breathe you must tell me at once. If it hurts or the pain spreads you _must_ let me know."

"Sure, Doc." I said dazedly.

"Jasper, come here and let me look at your shoulder." Doc said, as he sprayed a generous amount of painkiller on my wound. It was cold and uncomfortable but I preferred it to the pain. As Jasper crouched down next to him, Doc wrapped gauze securely around my torso.

Once he was done he turned to Jasper immediately. He made q quick examination and evaluation, decided and then firmly but gently grasped his wrist and elbow, angled the limb and pushed in.

Jasper barked out a loud cry and went very still. Slowly, he relaxed.

Doc got him in an arm sling and ordered him not to abuse that shoulder and then we were moving.

I was the pilot. The mission commander had been in the Hawkeye 03 and he was gone, so the chain of command passed directly onto me. I would have to navigate and give orders. That was alright, I could manage to lead, though I wasn't by any means what people call a natural leader. Emmet fit more into slot, but he seemed out of it.

The pleasant numbness at my side allowed me to focus on the situation. I pushed on forwards towards the new pickup point in silence, half mourning the losses, half thanking my own luck. Sure, I was sorry and angered and sick they were dead, but I was happy I was alive, too. I wasn't going to suffer survivor syndrome. I didn't feel guilty I had lived.

I didn't blame myself for surviving, though I had certainly had some business in it. Instead, I blamed the two stupid girls somewhere in the line behind me. It wasn't healthy, but it kept me in check, because they were so small and young and looked so soft and terrified.

Well, no. Not really.

They didn't look terrified. They looked determined, and ragged and tired. Their clothes were dirty and I could tell they had lost some weight by the way it hung about them. Doc Cullen had made a thorough exam of their state as we moved and had deemed them good enough to advance.

I'd glanced over them briefly to evaluate their resistance. I was going to have to push them. Civilians were rarely up to the Navy standards and these girls had seen some rough days. They would be exhausted by the time we got to the pickup point, but they could sleep on the helicopter or in the home base. My only concern was for them not to slow us down.

I knew I was being an asshole, but I couldn't help it. We wouldn't be in this god damned mess if it weren't because they thought they needed to do something for the freaking world. Stupid idealists.

I paused on my advance and climbed up a rock to take a better look at the terrain from a higher spot. The line kept going below and in front of me, and Emmet slapped my thigh playfully. I nodded without looking down. When I was sure the landscape as far as my sight allowed was clear, I jumped off the rock.

And Isabella ran right into me. She staggered back clumsily and I had to reach and catch her arm.

"Can you watch where you're going?" I asked rudely.

She arched an eyebrow and looked slightly pissed, but she seemed more embarrassed than anything else and she bit her bottom lip, looking down.

She was really beautiful, with very pale skin and dark wavy hair. Her eyes were a marvelous, velvety brown. I liked her straight eyebrows and small but soft looking pink lips. She was delicate and frail and so very tired.

I wondered what the hell she was doing here and that made me think of the men that had died trying to rescue her and I hated her all over again.

"I'm sorry." She murmured.

"You should be." I said with venom.

Rosalie stopped right by us and gave me a mighty glare. I relented and moved away, grim.

"He's an asshole." Rosalie explained behind me. "Just ignore him."

I was fine with her ignoring me. I was happy with her staying as clear from me as possible. Good men had died today, and all for what? So she could tell the world that this was a war zone and terrible things happened? The world already knew.

Wind picked up and the faint scent of flowers and freesias reached me. I looked over my shoulder to find the source and found Isabella right behind me. She was looking at me but I glared and she looked away immediately, blushing.

Lovely. I almost smiled.

I whipped my head away.

Fuck. I couldn't start to like her. No fucking way.

Like Elizabeth Bennet said in _Pride and Prejudice_: to find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate. That would be the greatest misfortune of all.

Only in my case it was a girl.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2. **

**/Edward/ **

My kingdom for a horse.

Or a bike.

Or a fucking wheelchair.

Anything that moved more smoothly than _her_.

She was driving me mad. In all fairness, it wasn't exclusively her fault. It wasn't her fault Mike was like an over eager golden retriever puppy, hovering around her. It might not be her fault that she could barely walk on her own.

Apparently, Isabella Swan didn't come equipped with an all-terrain switch like common trucks.

Emmett had taken to walking near her, making sure she didn't roll down a hill and snap her neck. Mike had volunteered enthusiastically, but Bella had looked wry and reluctant.

He _was_ an annoying dick, so I didn't blame her.

I walked at the head of the line, navigating the forests with the chart and the compass and my highly trained mind, my rifle always ready. I aimed to put as much distance between us and the crash site as possible, so that when they inevitably came after us, we would have a chance to stay out of their reach. We hadn't stopped since we had been grounded. Afternoon and night, and now we were fast approaching dawn.

"Edward." Doc Cullen caught my attention as he came up behind me. His bottom lip was still wounded, of course, but he had placed a butterfly stitch on it and he insisted it was nothing to worry about. With my broken rib spearing me with pain with every breath, I was in no position to argue with him. Selfless is not how I would describe myself. "We need to stop."

"Tired already?" I teased.

He gave me a look. "I need to take a look at your side. I want to check Jasper's arm. The girls are shaking on their feet."

"They'll sleep when they're dead." I shrugged.

Doc glared. His glare had a surprising intensity. I had to wonder if it was because he hardly ever glared, or because of the amazing gold of his eyes or because of how much importance I placed on his opinion of me. Either way, his drawn down brows and the line of his lips made me relent.

"Alright, people, three hours." I called, turning around and giving Doc a look: 'happy now?'

Doc smiled his splendid grin and nodded. "Strip to the waist."

I leaned my rifle against a nearby tree, sighing. I looked around as I started undoing my army overall and slipped it off my shoulders. Below it I only had an ugly white wife-beater I very severely disliked. I thought they were really tacky, but I wore them under my uniform because they were light and comfortable; the overall was designed to regulate temperature, so I had to wear something very light beneath it.

Doc rolled up the hem of my shirt to my chest and carefully undid the gauze. I felt like a very tightly wound mummy just arriving at a new museum. Now, wouldn't it be nice to have a huge mask made of gold, I mused.

To get my mind off the sharp pain as Doc touched my bruised flesh, I looked around again.

Rosalie was sitting with her back to a tree; Emmett crouched in front of her. They had a kind of attraction to each other, but enjoyed stretching their limits, testing the waters. They touched, sparks flew, and they fled in different directions. I supposed foreplay was fun, for a while. I was more of a head-on sort of guy. You either like me or you don't. I don't get jerked around.

Mike was standing—like freaking always—next to Swan. She was sitting in a low rock, her shoulders slumped forward. She really did look tired, frayed even. Her eyelids were drooping. Her hair was a tangled snarl, rich brown pointing everywhere. When she blinked, her eyes were heavy to open and she was staring fixedly at the ground.

She probably wasn't even listening to what Newton was saying, and I derived some sort of selfish pleasure from that. He really never had anything valuable to say. I would know. I flew with him daily.

As if she sensed my watching her, she looked up and her eyes, fogged with sleep, cleared almost instantly. We locked our eyes. I wasn't even sure what expression I wore. I wanted it to be menacing because I was still angry that 37 men were dead and I still—unfairly, I know—blamed her. But I also wanted it to be inviting, because despite how angry I was, I still liked her.

Her eyes were like velvet, like chocolate. Secrets swam in them like the moonlight on a lake's surface. Right below the surface, as though they were made of crystal. You could see the hint of the secrets but never reach them.

I wanted to talk to her, listen to her voice. She had some kind of odd attraction, the way her fragile shoulders slumped, how her delicate wrists let her hands hang. It was like she was made of glass.

The urge to protect her was natural, I convinced myself. She was a fragile little girl, pale and tired, and I was a trained soldier taught to defend my country and my countrymen. It came to me like an instinct, to be her shield. When she stumbled—once every, say, three minutes, average—my hand darted out to help even when she was far away.

And she was always far away, because whenever she looked at me I glared and she knew to keep her distance. She was perceptive, observant. And I wasn't exactly stealthy, to be quite honest.

Some self-righteous part of me—a pretty big part of me actually—insisted my anger was well placed. In part, I thought my anger was well placed, though that argument was quickly losing ground as my highly rational mind forced me to accept that she hadn't shot me down and she probably didn't like being in this situation.

As to what was keeping me away from her still, lacking the burning hate of the first few hours, it was evidently pride. I hated to admit it. I didn't like admitting my flaws, because I'm proud.

Wow, circular logic. Which means my own logic came back to bite me in the ass.

She held my gaze, now. I wondered if she saw something different in my eyes. She usually looked away, darted her eyes somewhere else. I knew then that I showed my distaste. I had never been very diplomatic, and I was very poor at hiding my emotions. I never cared. I never needed to.

I wanted to do it now.

Her eyes finally left mine, dropped down. She blushed profusely. I realized she was looking at Carlisle. A wave of unexpected anger slammed against me like a brick. I winced with distaste. Jealousy? Really? I was turning into a fucking woman.

"Lift your arms." Cullen instructed. I did as he said, grasping my right wrist with my left hand and resting them on the top of my head. I closed my eyes and tried to relax.

In ten seconds I thought of thirty ways to let her know he was happily married and unlikely to cheat. Carlisle breathed his wife Esme, not oxygen.

I chuckled. Now that was just petty. If she wanted to waste her time on a married man then let her. I hoped she enjoyed disappointment.

Unless, of course, she had been staring at my torso instead of at Carlisle, who was level with it.

Huh.

Interesting thought. I glanced at her—her face was quite red—and with one quick shift removed the shirt completely.

Why, look at that _blush_. Her eyes widened, lingered. Then she looked away, embarrassed.

I chuckled.

"You are chronically rude." Cullen said, deadpan. Well, he didn't miss anything.

I shrugged. "I use what I got to get what I want."

He started wrapping new gauze over my chest. "There's more civilized ways to get her to see you." he said. "For example, you could apologize for being an insensitive jerk and try to get her to like you."

"She flinches every time I come near." I complained. "And when she flinches she invariably trips and falls." I added monotonously, arching an eyebrow.

"A dog bites you; you'll flinch when he comes around you again."

"So I'm a dog now?" I asked with an edge to my voice.

"I know dogs entirely more agreeable than you." he said harshly, and taped the gauze securely before rising to his feet to unleash the full force of his glare at eye level. "Honestly, Edward. You are twenty seven years old. I think you can handle a young girl." He clapped my shoulder, grinning. "Man up."

He was looking at me like he was my dad, with the typically parental annoying 'do me proud' look.

I glared.

"And get dressed. It's cold. You'll poke someone's eye out." He warned.

I cringed at his meaning and quickly put the shirt back on. I shrugged the uniform onto my shoulders and zipped up.

Swan had lain down on the ground next to Brandon and they were both asleep. That was fast. I wondered if she was faking sleep. I could just picture her doing that so she wouldn't have to face me. I sighed. Maybe I was just being arrogant. Well, of all seven deadly sins, that was the one I liked the most, so I could live with that. That was a deadly sin, right? Or was that pride?

I was both so it didn't matter.

For three hours, I slipped in and out of a very light rest. Emmett and Rosalie were keeping watch. Newton had stretched down with his side flush against Swan's back.

I wanted to beat him up.

I was startled out of my last slip into slumber by Jasper's hand on my shoulder.

"Three hours." He said.

I got to my feet quickly, forcing my body to wake up. It was full day now and sunny. Beautiful. If only we weren't behind enemy lines being hunted down like animals.

If only.

"Move out!" I called, adjusting my rifle on its usual, comfortable place at my hip. "Navigate for a bit." I told Emmett when he passed by me.

He nodded, going over to the head of the line. I kept back, waiting. I wanted to be at the rear of the line for a while, making sure to cover our tracks. Swan was the last, with Newton at her elbow. I caught her irritated look, barely concealed, as he babbled on and on about some mission to Russia. He missed it completely.

My gaze met hers and I hid my amusement. Not well enough, though—she saw it in my eyes.

She almost smiled; I saw it at the ends of her full, pink lips. Then she caught herself, remembered I loathed her, and turned away. In her haste to get away from me she tripped (of course) over her own feet.

My arm shot out of its own accord and wrapped around her stomach. She grasped my arm, blushing furiously.

"I got it, Newton." I said curtly. "Move along."

I paused with my arm still around her, looking at Newton over my shoulder as he reluctantly continued ahead. My nose was very near her hair, my lips touching the silky strands. Her breast was pressed against my arm. I was enjoying this way too much. Especially considering how I'd been treating her.

She finally pushed against my arm and pulled away. I released her, unwillingly.

"Sorry." she muttered. She moved a strand of hair behind her ear and I saw her hand. The heel of her palm was red and covered in little scratches. I grasped it before I even thought about it.

I was too impulsive around her. I was usually much, much more controlled. Discipline was my thing. So, I struggled to find my famous discipline and apply it to the situation.

"You should get those looked at." I said. She looked at our hands, too.

"Do you play the piano?" she asked unexpectedly.

"Not for a long time now." I said, looking at her. "How could you tell?"

"Long fingers, delicate touch." she shrugged. "Either musician or artist. String instrument players have stronger fingers, tend to grasp tighter. Piano players are much more careful. If you drew the knuckles in your right pinky would be more marked, so you're not a drawing artist. And you're ambidextrous. Piano players are usually ambidextrous."

I stared. Observant of her.

"So, are you done hating me?" she asked, nearly slapping me with her bluntness.

I frowned. "Not really. But I'm trying. Rationally, I know it's not your fault."

"I take it you're very rational, Commander?"

_I take it you usually talk to people who just admitted to loathing you?_, I thought. There were definitely some synapses missing in that brain of hers.

"I try to be." I shrugged.

"Well, it's good you don't—"she had to stop to reach out for a tree and steady herself when her boot stepped on a small rock and made her stagger.

I arched an eyebrow. "Did you learn to walk very recently?" I asked her. I was being charming, really. I deserved to be beaten to a pulp. I was rather certain that given the chance, Rosalie would take it upon herself to deliver. So long as she didn't break a nail.

I saw her shoulders tense and her back stiffen. She glared at me, eyes narrowed. "Your talent to alienate people is near miraculous." She said quietly.

She was only too right. "Yes. I'm very proud." I wondered if being an asshole came naturally to me, like protecting random girl in anonymous forests.

"I'm curious. Do you keep a daily score?"

"I write it on my diary." I smirked, moving on and grasping her elbow to aid her as we walked to keep up with the troop. "I goes like this; '_dear diary, today I was pompous and rude_'." I made a gesture as if I flipped the page. "_Today, I was a total jerk to a perfectly nice person. It was the best day ever_'."

She laughed and I loved the sound. Like a bell, like a wind chime. Like running water.

Jesus, I was turning into a woman. And a PMSing woman no less. That explained the mood swings. Love-hate-love-hate.

"That does sound like you." she said solemnly.

"Ooh, that's disturbing." I chuckled.

"Why were you so upset with me before, and what did I do to change it?"

Why did she have to ask so many questions? Couldn't she just be happy I was over it? Besides, hadn't I said I still hated her? Wasn't she listening?

"Nothing changed." I snapped.

She paused. "Do you have a psychological disorder?"

I laughed. "I prefer physiological, myself." Like PMS.

"Oh, to be sure. Pop a pill and be merrily on your way. No need to lie on a couch for hours on end and gush about how by cutting your hair your mother triggered five different sets of traumas."

I laughed out loud. I completely agreed. Psychology was so utterly useless.

"Since we're in the business of being honest, why are you two here? This is a war zone. Not the best choice for a holiday resort."

She snorted. "Yeah, I've been lying around drinking margaritas in the sun. My reasons are my own." She added, and it took me a second to realize her tone had changed.

"I risked my life for you. I risk it still, by being here." I said severely.

She bowed her head. "I can't tell you." she murmured.

"What?" I asked, confused and angry.

Her eyes fastened onto mine, wide and dark, but calm, patient. "It's too dangerous." She whispered. "The less you know, the safer you are. It's better to be like this; you're just on the edge, secondary risk."

"What the hell are you talking about?"I hissed, getting closer and frowning, suddenly alarmed. "Who's after you, girl?"

She looked up at me sadly, shaking her head and attempting to free her arm from my grasp. I was holding her too tightly. She had fair skin, it would bruise easily. I kept holding on, tightening my grip until she visibly winced and my conscience stabbed at me.

Instant remorse. I had hurt her. I had probably bruised her.

I loosened my grip, so that it was still there but she was comfortable. "How much danger are we in?" I asked quietly.

She didn't answer, probably because there was no appropriate answer to a question of the sort. Not if she was aiming to not scare me, which was ridiculous in and of itself, but whatever. She was hiding something from me though, and that irritated me. I couldn't be expected to fight blindly; I needed to know what I was up against. How viciously would they come after these girls? And who?

I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and whipped my head to the side. A flash of light. The reflection of the sun shattering against metal, against the barrel of a rifle.

I threw myself down over Swan, pressing her to the ground. She cried out, probably hurt, but I didn't flinch. Hurt was better than dead. I was resting my whole body weight on hers, and I knew I was crushing her as I took my aim, pressing my elbows to the ground.

She went unsettlingly still, her breath slow and forcefully even. I realized she was trying to not mar my aim by her harsh breathing under my chest. That propelled her at least five steps up the stairs of my personal appreciation. She was climbing fast.

I didn't know why we weren't dead yet. If they wanted to kill her all they had to do was shooting through me and get her. I would be a casualty, collateral damage. I didn't have any importance. Yet they were holding fire. Why?

Did they need her alive? Did they want her as prisoner? Still. Why not kill me? What was their game?

I swallowed and waited, counting the seconds. My nerves thrummed with electricity, aching to spring up and pursue the enemy. But I was all too aware of Swan's soft, pliant body beneath my own, and that small body needed to be protected. I couldn't leave her alone; surely she was scared half way to death, perhaps even going into shock as I lay here above her. I couldn't leave her where she could be found on her own, unguarded, defenseless.

She was my responsibility. She was under my charge.

I had been a fucking fool. Why had I allowed us to fall so back behind the troop? I should know better. Never go out of sight of your reinforcements. Never wander alone in hostile territory. A steady string of curses was parading easily across my brain as I took in just how much of a fucking imbecile I was and how my stupidity would get us both killed—

I saw a head and a neck as the man inched from behind the cover of a tree to shoot. I took the shot automatically. The bullet grazed the tree's bark and sang right into his neck, killing him. The shot reverberated around us, echoing on the trees, the hills and the sky. I held still yet, waiting for a partner. Snipers rarely ever went out alone into ground field missions.

The shot had alerted my men, I was sure.

"Behind us!" Swan said breathlessly, urgent, and I grabbed her arm and rolled us out of the way. I didn't have time to calculate how much room we had—we rolled down the slope of the hill, tumbling on the ground. Instinctively I regained my footing, stopping my momentum with my free hand and boots and I lifted the rifle. I remained crouched down and ready.

Swan wasn't so fast. She rolled down to the foot of the hill and whined, hitting the ground hard. I waited, looking at the top of the hill where we had just been. Nothing.

I realized he wasn't coming up to us from the front and hurriedly joined Swan at the foot. She was sitting up already, eyes looking around wildly. I pushed her back down and instructed she curled into a ball and covered her head. Crouching down, I pressed my knee against her hipbone, to help my balance in case I had to whirl around.

One. Two. Three. The seconds ticked by. The silence was oppressing.

A rustle of leaves to my left had me whipping around, but another gunshot resonated first, followed by two in quick succession.

Searing pain flared up in the junction of my neck and shoulder. I winced and struggled to hold the rifle steady. I leaned more weight into her hip, feeling unbalanced. She looked up, feeling the chance, and her eyes widened.

"Masen!" Emmett came down the slope, and grabbed my rifle arm. "Sit down. Doc!" he bellowed. I let him push me off my haunches to a sitting position and bent my legs. Swan had a remarkable presence of mind and was undoing my overall. I winced and cringed but she was careful, peeling it away from the wound. She elevated herself on her knees to look at both sides.

"Entry and exit." She told me. "Looks clean."

Doc was right at my side and Swan disappeared. I felt the loss of her like I needed air. I squelched the need to reach my hand and hold her close, because she really didn't need to see me bleeding and hurt. And besides, I'd admitted I hated her. I couldn't very well ask to cuddle.

"It's alright." He determined after touching the wound and making me whine like a puppy. "It grazed the collarbone and went through the upper muscle. It's not serious."

"Good." I ground out.

He cleaned the wound and bandaged it. Emmett offered his hand to help me to my feet.

"These guys have no IDs." Rosalie said, getting to my side. "No wallets even, not any documentation. They really didn't want to be discovered."

"Yeah." I said, swallowing. "Let's move out." A heartbeat. "I said _move_, Newton!" I barked.

Mike flinched and hurriedly walked away, glancing at Swan uncertainly. She came towards me, pale but calm.

"I got shot." I said darkly, glaring at her.

"I saw." She answered. Her eyes ghosted over the long stain of blood down my front. "I used to be queasy around blood." She said, and I could taste melancholy in her voice. She _wanted_ to be queasy around blood? Oh. She got used to it. I get it.

She looked at her own hands, smeared in my blood, and started blinking very fast.

I guess she hadn't gotten used to it after all. I snatched her hands and lifted her chin. "Breathe."

Then I grabbed her under the elbow, turned her around and started walking up the hill. She staggered at my side twice, and finally leaned a greater portion of her weight on my arm. I liked the sensation, and I liked that she trusted me.

"I think I'll benefit from your balance for a little while." She said. Her voice was shaky.

That was fine by me.


	3. Stray Dog Strut

**Chapter 3. Stray Dog Strut**

**/Edward/**

Pain snatched me from sleep. Searing, hot, pulsing pain in my shoulder. I tensed every muscle and gritted my jaw, shoving down the moan I wanted to let go.

Eventually, I grew accustomed to the pain. It didn't lessen, not by any means, but I learned to regulate my functioning around it. Face it, accept it, embrace it, move on.

Breathe in, breathe out, teach your muscles to unclench—the usual, pain dealing mechanism that had been engraved into me in the boot-camp and the subsequent years in the military. My body started to relax, and the pain became a secondary, tolerable fact of my anatomy.

I pulled myself up to a sitting position and looked around.

Mike glanced at me from where he was kneeling, keeping guard.

"It's not your turn yet." He said.

I shrugged. "I'm awake." I looked at my watch. 0400 hours. I made quick math. We had crashed down at exactly 1830 hours of the twenty ninth of October. We were not at 0400 hours of the first of December. Still had three days ahead to get to the new Pickup. We were making good time, so I was relaxed in that sense.

It was every other sense that had my nerves on constant edge.

I was now sure that we were being hunted down. That added to my issues. I had to throw the enemy off while I kept my men en route and made a good progress. Soon, the forests would come to an interruption. We would have to move across a vast flat land with no cover, before plunging into the mountain chain.

It was nearly suicide, knowing we were being pursued, but I saw no way around it. If I rounded the flats, we'd waste valuable time.

Plus, maybe flat land worked better for Swan. The forests were evidently not doing it for her. I'd probably waste even more time, having her tromp around the forests indefinitely. I really didn't need to waste any more time. And yes, I continued to be a jerk. I thought it to be quite in character.

I might be a jerk, but at least I'm a consistent, coherent jerk.

She kept on steadily driving me insane. Only now my annoyance was only one fourth on her. And three fucking fourths on Mike Newton.

I wondered if I could get away with accidentally shooting him. Accidentally as in, on purpose. Like maybe tripping over my trigger.

No, Carlisle would resent that. Newton was a little bitch when he was hurt. Correction, he was a little bitch all the time, but he got more vocal when he was hurt.

I folded the chart and placed it back carefully on my pocket. Doc Cullen was asleep on his back to my right. He'd insisted in helping with the guard duties and I had shot him right down. I needed him sharp and rested, the only medic.

Bella (I'd heard her tell everyone to call her that—everyone but me that is, because I still supposedly hated her and she was fast catching up to reciprocate me) had tried to take a turn in guarding as well, but she, too, I had turned down. Harshly.

If she couldn't trust me enough to tell me what the fuck she had taken photos of, I sure as hell didn't trust her enough to guard my life while I slept.

Yep, I continued to alienate her effectively. I was beginning to resent my success. Besides, the loathing I had felt at the beginning had faded almost entirely.

I was intrigued.

_Let it go,_

_Let it roll right off your shoulder_

_Don't you know_

_The hardest part is over_

_Let it in,_

_Let your clarity define you_

_In the end_

_We will only just_

_remember how it feels_

Ah, Jasper was singing again. It was a low murmur, sweet and silky. I turned to look over my shoulder. Alice Brandon's head was resting on his uninjured shoulder. The easy companionship those two shared was touching. They were as made for each other; he, calm and gentle, quiet, shy. She, bouncy and active, outgoing, open.

Bella was sitting by them, legs crossed, huddled in her enormous parka and staring at her tiny, slim fingers. In the moonlight she looked bone pale, sick. I was restless. I wanted to be by her side. All I had to do was get up and walk five steps, let myself fall right by her. So easy.

Impossible.

It was even more annoying knowing I couldn't do it because I had been such a jerk to her. My fault. And I didn't want to be inconsistent, like I said. I had been a jerk, I had to keep being a jerk.

Glorious. Limited by my own idiocy. I just reached new levels. I raked my hand through my messy hair and cursed under my breath.

Okay, fine. Man up and grow a _backbone_, Masen.

I turned to look over my shoulder again, determined.

She was staring right at me. I froze.

She snatched her eyes down to her hands. I lifted a brow. A moment later, she peeked back at me from under her lashes. I lifted both brows now, asking what her problem was.

Her eyes darted away from me and then back. Behind me.

Mike.

I grinned. I shrugged my shoulders.

She hid her smile by lowering her head so her hair spilled over her shoulders. I chuckled and laid back down, bending my knees and folding my arms to place my hands under my head. I was positively giddy.

My testosterone had just been replaced by estrogen. Fuck. I unlaced my fingers and threw an arm over my face.

Carlisle snickered.

"I hate you." I muttered.

"Aw. My little boy is in love."

"I can hurt you."

He grinned widely, still keeping his eyes closed.

"Grow a pair, Edward." Emmett murmured at my other side. "Make them _hairy_."

"I'm thinking of ways you could be any cruder." I paused. "It's just not coming."

He snickered.

"Remember, Edward." Doc said, very gently, so it only carried to me and Emmett. "If you take sexual advantage of the girl, you will burn in a very special place of hell."

I struggled not to laugh.

"One reserved for child molesters and people who speak in the theatre." Rosalie murmured.

Emmet laughed, which kind of defeated the purpose of our murmurs, so I laughed along. Carlisle chuckled, and soon we were all snorting and trying not to be too loud.

"It's natural though, the fantasy." Cullen said clinically, trying hard to be very, very helpful. Or just laugh at me. "How many of us have lost countless productive hours plagued by unwanted sexual thoughts and feelings?"

I bet _you_ didn't, you freaking monk.

"Yeah." Emmett said.

"That was a rhetorical question, not a poll." Doc said.

I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it. Emmet elbowed me and I rolled away, colliding with Cullen.

Amazing that we could be laughing given the circumstances.

"Enough lazing around, people, on your feet!" I ordered as I got up, still chuckling. "And Jasper, I like your singing but this is really not the right time."

We walked again. Down hills, up hills, we rounded a huge hole—some animal reared its head and deemed us not dangerous, thus returning to its lair—we skidded over some rocks—Bella bruised her left arm—and we skipped over a small stream.

We stopped for lunch. I gave them forty minutes to eat and then had them back on the move. I felt restless. I was worried. I oscillated between the head and rear of the line, doubtful.

"You're making everyone nervous." Rosalie complained at some point, grabbing my arm. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, broke free and walked away. Emmett and Jasper exchanged a look. I had good instincts. Something was off, wrong. My balance was tipped. I couldn't explain it, even if I tried.

I stopped dead in my tracks, shaking my head. Emmett came to my side, frustrated. "Edward, what—?"

We heard dogs bark in the distance and we turned quickly in that direction.

"Stray dogs?" Jasper asked, surprised.

"This is a war zone." I said quietly. "There are no stray dogs. They become dinner."

We all paled.

"How do we lose them?" Mike asked, rather panicky.

I wonder that, myself.

"There's a river to our right." Emmett suggested.

"It's fifty degrees, Emmett." I answered.

"It might be frozen."

"Long shot."

"It's still something." He said urgently.

I shook my head slowly, eyes fixed in the direction the barks had come from. I was making math in my head, calculating, measuring possibilities and contrasting them with each other.

Finally I came up with the only option available. Risky, but it was the best.

"Rosalie," I said, and turned slightly to smirk at her. "Would you go hunting with me?"

She grinned. "You know how to talk to a girl, Masen. I'd _love_ to go out with you."

"Hey. Be careful." Emmet said severely to me.

"Take them to the river, try to get across. Once you do move out in separate pairs, spread the tracks. Keep Swan and Brandon with you and Cullen, distribute the rest. Then arrange a meeting point here." I drew out my chart, opened it quickly and showed him. "Have them meet you there at and appropriate span of time and then keep moving non-stop towards the mountains. It won't stop them entirely but it should delay them if Rose and I fail. We'll catch up—or we won't."

Emmett nodded. Rosalie came to him and they shared a deep kiss, very evidently not giving a shit what everybody else thought, which made me smile. He murmured something in her ear and she nodded, and then we moved away in different directions.

It was 1400 hours. We still had a good two hours of light. The breeze had picked up, but we were downwind, luckily, so our scent would not be carried to the dogs. We would need to make a wide circle to ambush them, however, so we deviated widely to the right, keeping low and moving quickly.

"Did it ever cross your mind" Rosalie asked after twenty minutes of walk. "that you might be wrong and those could really just be stray dogs?"

"No." I answered curtly.

She didn't speak again, until I found a good position for our ambush. These woods were littered with old caves turned into refuges, probably left from some of the several civil wars. At some point an underground hideout had caved in, sinking the hill that had disguised it. Time and climate had acted upon the ruins of the refuge, covering it with moss and vegetation. The trail we had been keeping sank following the slant of the terrain, and undulated smoothly down to a small valley. The previous, perhaps unlucky residents of the refuge had piled chopped wood very neatly at a safe distance; it was now covered with green moss and shrubbery and seemed to put up not only a decent hideout but also a respectable cover.

I thought it patently stupid, though. What kind of imbecile fixes a pile of logs when you're trying to hide? It's like posting a sign 'hey, we keep permanent residence here, come kill us, free of charge'.

One of the sides of the hill-refuge still stood, over two meters in height, and presented a steep rock wall green with flora and covered in beautiful little winter flowers.

Our pursuers would follow the trail down into the valley, and be trapped exactly between the pile of logs and the tall wall. This seemed as good as it would get, so I positioned Rosalie above the wall, the safest spot, and took a station behind the logs. To make sure the dogs would pause right where I needed them to, I drew my pocket knife and made a small cut on my left palm, allowing the blood to drop onto the leaves and dirt. That ought to catch their attention long enough.

"I can't believe we're shooting dogs." She said thoughtfully while I crouched down and bled in strategically calculated spots. She didn't seem bothered by the notion of killing _men_, which I found rather unbalanced. But then, that's why I had chosen Rosalie to come with me—she was ruthless. That, and if she was captured, she knew well how to use her looks to save herself.

Hey, the _true_ feminist is she who knows how powerful her feminine figure is. It's a completely different kind of power from that of men, and that is why it is so captivating.

"If it's them or me, you know who I'll choose." I muttered.

She glanced at me. "Just in case we die, I just wanted to tell you I think you're being a total asshole to Bella. I think you should just grab her and kiss her."

"I somehow doubt that would be welcome." I said, my voice dripping sarcasm.

"You'll never know, chicken shit."

"Shut up and get up there." I grunted, and crouched down with my back to the logs and the rifle between my legs.

Chicken shit. I'd never been called that. Rosalie must have known how much that nick name would grate on my nerves, being as proud as I am. She knew me well. But it wasn't only a matter of whether I was interested in her or she reciprocated that hypothetical interest. We were in a dire situation, certainly no place to start anything at all. Men had died. And I needed a level head on my shoulders, if I was to lead the remaining task force to safety.

It was the worst possible moment, but away from Bella, I allowed myself a moment of thought.

So. She was a reporter. She was young, and undeniably pretty. Maybe even beautiful, on her delicate way. She was obviously younger than me, maybe twenty one or twenty two, pushing it. That left a minimum or five years of difference, not that I gave a shit, so I don't even know why I was calculating. She had a character to her, a witty mind and a smart tongue. I liked her full pink lips, the shape of her deep eyes and the delicate line of her longu neck. I liked the way her skin was almost translucent, like silk stretched over glass. I loved the way her eyes glowered with her kittenish fury.

Sure. She was my kind of woman. And she might absolutely loath me which added to the challenge. More so since I had brought it upon myself. I enjoyed seducing a woman as much as any regular guy, only I liked women with attitude. I mean, it was only fair that since I was a mood swinging jackass, I get to deal with a raging bitch.

Only she wasn't, and that put me off.

Raging bitches, you can toss around and get rid of. Spent a couple of weeks, get a few good nights, and then discard. Otherwise they ruined your life. They weren't meant for lasting relationships. There's women and then there's _women_.

I wanted to sleep in Bella's apartment, I was so into her. That was a little bit more meaningful than my usual, never kept promise of 'I'll call you'. Bella was relationship material, girlfriend material. The kind of girl you figured out, got to hang up with you, ease into your life and brought on Sunday noon to meet your parents.

She was probably a virgin.

I cringed at the thought and slammed the breaks. Whoa. Hold your horses.

I'd never been anyone's first.

And then I almost laughed, because honestly, who said she even _wanted_ me to be her first, provided she _was_ a virgin? I mean you never know. The quiet ones are always surprising. I doubted it, though. That didn't fit into my analysis of Bella's character. Then again, who the fuck makes an analysis of someone's character in less than seventy two hours? Seriously. I'd always been exceptionally good at judging people, deciphering their minds, which is why I was a good strategist, but Bella was really quite a puzzle.

Maybe that was what had me on. Whenever I thought I had her figured out, she surprised me. I wanted to study her more carefully, evaluate her reactions and her small mannerisms, get acquainted with her body language.

I mean sure. I admitted it. I was attracted to her. I wouldn't mind spending a few days with her, preferably not running for our lives.

But let's face it. I might not be a manwhore—I'm too snob, too elitist—but I'm no monk. Just look at my last not-girlfriend (she didn't like to be tagged). Tanya Denali—your very stereotype of bitch. We hooked up, she would get offended, slap me and slam the door, then be back in the morning with coffee and chocolate cake. Only to be storming out at noon again, this time stinging my other cheek.

She was ambidextrous. Like me. Because she had played the piano… only not nearly as good as I had used to.

I glanced at my hands. Long, slender, white fingers. Piano player hands indeed. Back then, I hadn't been like this. I used to be a loving kid, really. Adorable. No disciplinary issues, always best grades at school, a genius in the conservatory. Dad was my best friend.

And then dad died along with mom, victims of a terrorist bomb in their plane as it flew from Lebanon to Egypt, over passing war raked Israel.

Pointless.

I left the conservatory, and my boiling blood urged me to join the navy and seek justice. Foolish. I never did find it. Instead I ran head first into Carlisle Cullen, and after two years of my bullshit—patient man, that one—he'd kindly invited me to his country house on Washington and proceeded to practically hold me prisoner for two weeks and scold the stupid out of me.

He'd been harsh. At some point he even raised his voice and grabbed me by the front of the shirt and slammed me against the wall. He reminded me so much of dad I almost fell apart.

But well, enough with the '_Good Will Hunting'_ sort of memories. I owed Carlisle my sanity. End of matter. The conclusion either way was Bella was too good for me.

And that hurt my pride, so I absolutely had to have her.

Wait, what? No. I was trying to do the _right_ thing here, fellows. She is too good equals I do not touch her.

The two sides of my brain needed to have an meeting, ASAP. They weren't coordinated.

I was startled right out o my evaluation of my sanity or lack thereof when I heard the voices and the barking and huffing of dogs.

Game on.

I turned around, preparing the rifle, and scanned the group.

They were seven men, and they had three dogs with them. They were good dogs, hounds. Beautiful creatures. I hated what I was about to do, but flaws and all, I really did like me better.

The dogs, as I had anticipated, were entertained momentarily by the strong smell of my blood on the ground. The cut stung in my hand but it was worth it. The men paused, rifles and shotguns relaxed aiming the ground.

Good. Given the normal time of reaction of a man, I would have at least three seconds to shoot before they located me and counterattacked. In that time I could kill three men, considering my excellent marksmanship, and Rosalie would be able to kill the rest. Once the men were dead there might not be any need to eliminate the hounds.

The estimated time or reaction of an excellently trained military man was 1.32 seconds. That was both mine and Rosalie's mark. If these men were in that level I was doomed, but they weren't wearing a uniform and every idiot knows to never aim your gun and the ground when you're stalking an armed enemy.

I would probably be alright.

Vital points. Shoot to kill. I didn't have time to be merciful. I squeezed the trigger; speed beat technique in this case and I didn't wait for the shot to take me by surprise like I had been taught. The first shot reached the closest man in the eye and killed him immediately. Rosalie's immediate shot killed the one closest to her wall, right through the skull. The others we killed in rapid succession. The fourth one had me in sights and shot at me, so I had to throw myself away flat against the ground. At that distance a pile of logs weren't going to help me much. Rosalie killed him from her perch, and then cried out.

Of course, because I had already exhausted my quote of divine benevolence for the week—I _did_ survive a helicopter crash—the dogs came after me. I had half the heart to shoot the first one, and the second one went at my throat. Rosalie killed the third one as I lifted my arm and presented my forearm to shark like teeth. The pain was sharp and jolting, multiplied by the many razor-like fangs.

I was just collecting scars in this fine mission. I hoped he was vaccinated. The last thing I needed was rabies.

I gritted my teeth and brought the butt of the rifle hard on the dog's skull. It whined and its jaw slackened. Its eyes were insane though, with rightful indignation. I had killed his beloved owner, and he had to take my life to pay for it. I always loved dogs. It killed me to have to hurt him, but if it came down to a choice, I knew where my priorities were.

Long after it had died, still on my chest, I still laid on the ground panting. My throat was constricted and I wanted to sob, so I just kept very still.

Rosalie was crouching down nearby, watching me.

It was one thing to kill men. Men could make as much damage as I could, even more. They were equals, and we fought in equal conditions. That didn't make it right to kill them, but it made it fair. It was my life of theirs and I knew who I preferred.

But creatures, innocent creatures like dogs and such, that was wrong. That wasn't equal conditions, even if they could hurt. I'd offended first; I'd killed its owner. I would have been so happy if the dog had curled its tail and whimpered in fear. It had loved its master enough to give its life and it was eating away at me.

The sun fell down on the horizon and plunged us into the premature night of the forests. I swallowed and closed my eyes, and very gently moved the dog off me. I laid it carefully on the ground, smoothing its ears one last time before I got to my feet. Rosalie got up, her face pale and drawn in the darkness, and followed me.


	4. Know Your Color

**Chapter 4. ****Know your Color.**

**/****Edward/**

We caught up with them half a mile from the reunion point I'd signaled to Emmet. They saw us before we saw them, for which I was thankful because it meant they had been on their toes while I was gone. It was early morning, just past dawn, and it was an unusually cold, clear day.

Between my broken rib, my injured neck and my bitten forearm, I was battered. I could keep moving, though, even if it meant pushing myself to cruel levels. I wasn't going to be the one slowing the group, not by any means.

Carlisle seemed increasingly worried about my health. It annoyed me, so I started avoiding him. His concerned glances were beginning to irk me. I knew my limits very well. I knew how long I could pull before the thread snapped, and I was not even near that point. Pain, I could deal with.

My problem was I was disgusted with myself. The incident with the dogs in the valley was darkening my mood to unprecedented gradients of black. I was glad for the dull ache in my arm where the dog had bitten me, because at least it meant some sort of retribution to all the pain I had caused it before I killed it.

I knew I needed to get myself out of the whole before I sank beyond help and started marring my performance, but I just didn't find a way to do it. All I could think about, and it made no fucking sense, and I mean at all, was the puppy I had had when I was a kid back in Chicago. It had been a small, beautiful German shepherd that had grown into a healthy and merry adult before passing away of old age at fifteen.

The dogs in the valley had had no breed, had not been pureblood like him, so why did I keep thinking of that?

It's not like somebody had smashed _my_ dog's skull.

I felt a wave of nausea. Shit. Splendid. I survive a helicopter crash, I kill men without a cringe, and I get fucking PTSD from killing a pup. I was so fucked up it wasn't even funny anymore. I got all my priorities wrong.

"Edward…" Jasper caught my arm, concern and urgency in his tone. He was so empathic; I'd been trying to avoid standing near him all morning. If he caught my frame of mind he'd go down faster than me. Jasper was sensitive; moods were a contagious decease for him, and my moods were too fucking much for him.

"Half an hour." I said through clenched teeth, and sank down against a tree, bending my knees. I rested my forehead against my right knee, breathing evenly. I needed to get through this _yesterday_. There was no place for this kind of pathetic behavior in our current situation. They needed me whole, and I owed it to them to offer them an efficient, intelligent leader.

_Get a grip_.

"Commander?" a quiet voice interrupted my mental beating, and I lifted my head to stare into Bella Swan's chocolate gaze, right at eye level with me. I swallowed and blinked quickly, hoping she didn't see the self-loathing in my eyes. I cleared my throat.

"Yes?" I glanced around and found everyone minding their own business, which was a feat, obviously deliberate. "What can I do for you, Miss Swan?" I asked coldly.

She didn't flinch at my tone, and her eyes were wide and calm, serene.

"What happened to you?" she asked gently, and touched my knee.

"What _happened_ to me?" I asked dully. "I fell right out of the sky, smack center in a war zone and without backup, that's what _happened_ to me. You might recall, it's all because of _you_?" Suddenly a screaming match with the girl sounded like a good idea. It would certainly unwind my tension, even as unfair and petty as it sounded. I needed to release some of my stress and she was right _there_.

She remained unmoved. "I don't recall because it's _not_ my fault, but if blaming me helps you then I won't deprive you of your solace."

I stared. She held my gaze, patient. She'd knocked the wind right out of my sails. I very nearly deflated, frankly.

"I killed the dogs." I said stupidly because really, who the fuck cared about the dog damned _dogs_!?

Me, apparently.

She continued to look at me evenly, her hand a light touch on my knee. She reached with her other hand and very slowly, very gently, moved a lock of hair away from my forehead. My eyes widened. Her touch left marks of fire on my iced skin. She leaned in, looking at me straight in the eyes.

"I forgive you." she said simply, her fingers caressing down from my temple to my cheekbone, across my cheek and down to my jaw. She gave me—only me—a beautiful small smile, and just like that, she drew her hands away, and left me. I watched her as she walked away and sat next to Alice, silent.

I always thought there's something odd, peculiar, in being forgiven. When you feel you've done something horrible—a feeling I'm fairly familiar with—it's a sensation not unlike being out at sea with a ruined sailboat on a furious storm. It had ups and downs and sometimes the water crashes with viciousness into you and sometimes you glide through, blissfully numb. I suppose you can call it guilt, though I personally associate it more with regret and disgust.

I was young when my parents died and I recognize, because I am mostly rational, that a very large part of my emotional education was stuck and never advanced. I never did anything for myself in that aspect since the position of simply being a repressed asshole and not caring was the easiest. I'd told myself being a jerk worked so whatever.

But I've never lied to myself. You never can, when you're as rational as I am. I did care about a lot of things I didn't care to admit. It mattered to me that I had killed a creature that I loved, because I loved dogs. It mattered that I had been forced to kill it because of its love for its owner, it mattered that it had been willing to give his life for his master and I had ended both their lives.

Mostly, it mattered because no one, _no one_, that inspires such pure, such deep rooted love in a dog can be a horrible person. There are layers to everyone, and that layer touched too close to heart for me. There's something soothing in killing and anonymous face, a blur of a man whose figure you might never recognize. So long as he remains a shadow that's fine. But the moment you see that his eyes were blue, that he had a freckle under his right eye… when you notice the little details that make him a person, the number becomes a name you never knew, and that's when a little part of your soul dies along with him.

There was that, and there was my own entrenched love for dogs and what they bring, and the fact that I had done wrong by him and he deserved chance at his revenge, and because of that killing him had been wrong and painful. He was in the right and I was in the wrong, by him. It had been easy then, as I crouched on the ground and set up a trap, to say to Rosalie that I knew who I liked better and it was me. It's always easy to say something when you're not in the situation.

The core of the question was, it _did_ matter that I had killed the pup. So long as it meant something to me it would matter, and I didn't want anyone telling me they ahd been just dogs, and didn't matter as compared to a human life.

Life is equal, and no creature has more right to live than other, nor is a creature's life worth more than others. What of the murderers, the rapists, the drug dealers? Were their lives worth more than the dog I had killed because he loved his master dearly and judged his life equal to his own? Fair trade, life for a life? No. I didn't believe that.

And she didn't either. I'd seen that understanding, that knowledge, in her eyes as she looked into mine. She _knew_, she appreciated it. And while she wasn't as disgusted and as sick as I was with myself, she was still upset. But the difference was, she saw through the smoke to the other side of the road, and understood that being forced to do something doesn't mean wanting to do it. I'd set up my priorities and I would live with their consequences.

She'd said the right thing because we shared that belief, if nothing else. The knowledge that she shared that with me, that what I'd did upset her, that it wasn't indifferent to her that I'd killed the dog… and that she forgave me, and freed me of that burden, was soothing.

It was not unlike the abrupt change of wind at sea, when the blowing changes drastically and the weather cools, and the sea calms down to a gentle rocking. The rocking in there, the lapping of the waves, but it is calm, patient, and soothing like a lullaby. It's a rocking you can live with. The calm after the storm. When the wind chants _enough, now_. Enough.

I rested my head back against the tree and sighed wearily, and before I finished the sigh I was already asleep.

I was awoken to a hand on my good shoulder and a bottle of water.

"Edward?" Carlisle seemed pale. "You have a fever. Drink this. Slowly."

"I'm fine."Automatic response. Like a flinch when someone pinches you.

"Drink."

"Save it."

"Commander Masen, drink this right now." A very nearly accomplished head medic tone of 'obey or die'. I didn't buy it.

"Nice try." I complimented like an asshole. I was back in role apparently.

"Edward." He begged, squeezing my shoulder. "Please. You'll be sick."

Too late. I wanted to throw up.

"I have authority over you, Edward."

"Not technically."

"Edward, you grab this bottle right now or I will call Emmett and I will empty it down your throat forcefully."

Now that was better. I snatched the bottle and gulped half down, glaring at him all the while.

Well, enough of the pity party. I got to my feet, swallowed the rest of the water in two swigs and threw the empty bottle back at the medic. "Let's move." I ordered, touching Alice's shoulder gently to get her attention. She jumped to her feet, smiling broadly, and touched her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute.

I arched an eyebrow. "Now, if you're going to do something, do it well." I scolded playfully. "Square your shoulders, straighten your back, feet together" she was obeying me remarkably well, and Jasper grinned. "Hand." She raised her hand. "Stiffen your fingers, make them completely straight, bend your thumb like this. Good. Now. The salute starts at the level of your navel. You'll move your hand up without relaxing, grazing your front—never more than an inch between your palm and your body. When you reach your chin you start turning your hand and wrist together and then you'll rest your index finger above the edge of your right eyebrow.

Perfect.

She burst out laughing and ruined it, but she got the point. That felt good. Felt like _me_.

I turned, chuckling and shaking my head, and found Bella's eyes. She was smiling too, and I liked the sight.

I widened my grin, just to see what happened.

She laughed happily.

Score.

So, in the middle of a field mission, down on enemy lands, with a whole crew of men and two civilians under mi wing, I was going to start some silly little 'I like you' dance with some girl?

Bella tripped and Emmet caught her arm.

I snickered.

I guess I was.

We moved with renewed urgency now, walking fast. The vast open field I had seen on the map was coming up close. I wanted to get there before nightfall and cross it in the cover of darkness, when we wouldn't be as easy as the bottles in the wall in the games on the city fairs. I could just picture it.

'_Shoot the brown haired girl and win a stuffed monkey!_'

I snickered again. How I found that funny was beyond me. I was so sick.

I'd have to work on that. Bella probably didn't like her men sick. And yes, I was willing to work on it. Figure that.

I remembered one particularly harsh fight with Tanya. She'd said I could never change, that I'd always be an asshole. Well, I was fine with being an asshole then, so it didn't really bother me. It did now; surprise, surprise. I guess things really do come back to bite you in the ass.

I refused to believe it, though. I was a strong willed man, I could do what I wanted. I could change. I just had to have the proper incentive. I wasn't going to sulk around and wallow in my incapability. Who did that, anyway? How pathetic can one possibly be?

Oh, wait—I had done just that this morning.

Huh.

I was going to have to adjust my compass, it was obviously biased. I was beginning to think maybe I didn't see things clearly. Well, the mere fact that I thought that was probably an improvement.

I shook my head and chuckled at myself, amused.

"You do that a lot." A gentle voice sang next to me. I turned to look and Bella smiled.

"I do what a lot?" I asked, slightly confused.

"Chuckle and shake your head."

"Oh." I smirked. "Well, laughing to oneself if sign of a rich internal world." I said wisely.

"Or insanity." She pointed out.

"Ah, yes, there is that." I nodded judiciously.

"There's something catchy about insanity." She reflected.

"You mean as in a cold, that kind of catchy? You stand next to a crazy person, you catch his craziness, catchy?" I arched a brow.

She laughed. "No. Catchy as in interesting."

"Crazy men are interesting? You are a strange, strange little gal."

She shrugged. "Strange works for me."

"Well, strange things certainly do happen around you." I mused. I'd never heard of hounds utilized to hunt down female reporters and their improvised protectors in enemy territory. Movies said most villains generally misjudged the heroes as being irritatingly stupid. Like if you waited long enough they'd fall right into your hands.

And then I had to laugh because I was the hero, which meant the Universe had a very shrewd sense of humor. And there I was, laughing to myself for no apparent reason again. I glanced at her and she was looking at me, clearly thinking the same thing, and I chuckled. It was easy to smile and laugh around her, like her very nearness made the air thinner, easier to breathe.

"Good luck tends to avoid me." she said.

"Join my club."I mumbled.

She laughed. She was going to add something, without a doubt a witty remark, when the ground shook slightly and a thunder raged across the sky. I recognized the sound as an explosion caused by a grenade.

A sure way to snap you back into reality.

We reached the flat land just as the sun was setting. I wanted to wait for the light to be completely gone, so we had a few minutes on our hands.

I crouched down at the edge of the tall grass, under the shade of a tree. I could see the mountains rising, a wall of emerald green with trees, across the open field. The field itself was covered with grass that was as tall as my hipbone. Finally some good luck. The grass would provide a half decent screen, and coupled with the darkness of night we might be quite invisible. I would go first, of course, to make sure we weren't being stalked.

As I crouched there and drank some water from my bottle—Doc had filled it in the river earlier—Bella came to crouch at my side. Her balance was poor, so she leaned against my side. I liked it.

"You might not want to do that." I muttered. "Adrenaline and close contact don't do well for the male anatomy. Especially certain parts."

She blushed madly but didn't move. "I feel safe when I'm with you." I wondered if she deliberately avoided making a comment on my observation because she was a virgin or because it was completely inappropriate given the situation.

You know what else was completely inappropriate given the situation? My thinking of her hypothetical virginity, so I shot that thought right down.

I wondered if all the thoughts that raced through my head at her words made me look like it took me ages to come up with answers and she thought I was stupid.

"It's an illusion." I said darkly. "You're not safe anywhere around here, regardless of my presence."

"A normal guy would have soothed my concerns, you know." She said skeptically.

"I'm not a normal guy."

"Evidently." She agreed with a sigh. "But at least you do have pretty normal moral linings, so I can work with that."

The fact that she thought she could work with that was simply ridiculous and I arched an eyebrow. "I don't have moral linings." I warned. I felt like I ought to forewarn her of my character. Like she needed to be on alert for when she got a chance to actually see me in normal conditions.

What the hell? How was I going to see her under 'normal conditions'? What, I was going to _happen_ to run into her? On an _aircraft carrier_? _Hey, I was in the neighborhood, which is to say, only three thousand nautical miles from here, so I decided to drop by for coffee_.

She moved away from me to stare at me, completely stunned. "What?" she blinked.

"I don't. I never developed them. I just took what the Navy gave me." Morality, and rules, had been what had brought me to the Navy to begin with. I needed someone to tell me what was right and what was wrong and the military seemed to have a pretty good idea. Over the years there had been disagreements, but never anything I couldn't get over or conveniently ignore. I always got my way anyway—I was too valuable, too good, to be discharged for disobedience or insolence, even the three times I had been subjected to court martial.

She stared at me in complete awe for a heartbeat, and then suddenly burst out laughing. Now, I wasn't aiming for any particular reaction, I was just talking, but in any case… that was not what I expected. I frowned at her, thinking maybe she was mad. The military had some interesting health care programs for traumatized people, if I paid a good amount of money and pulled some string I could probably—why was I thinking of her medical care!? She wasn't my wife!

She continued to laugh until her fits died into small, delicate chuckles. And then she looked at me with tenderness in her eyes and a soft smile that spoke too loudly the words 'you're an idiot, but you're a cute idiot'.

"Edward." I ignored the electric current of delight that went through my nerves when she said my name. Dangerous. "What color are your eyes?"

Okay, she was mad. Of course I would like some crazy girl. I couldn't just like the sane ones. Wouldn't be as amusing, wouldn't it?

"Green." I said slowly, so she could follow me. I'd have to keep a good eye on her, make sure she didn't get herself in trouble under my watch. I hoped she wouldn't hurt the rest. I could organize some sort of constant vigilance over her—Newton would be _delighted_. I could just picture him wigging his fluffy little golden retriever tail. I wondered if Alice knew, I'd have to ask her. Was she depressive, or schizophrenic?

It hurt to think she was unbalanced, but she appeared pretty sane most of the time, so that wouldn't necessarily out a strain in a relationship, if I learned to work around her—wonderful. I was planning a _whole life_ with a girl I'd known for a _week_, and who appeared to be insane.

Well, at least we'd fit.

She nodded, still smiling with fondness and mirth. "Well, at least you know _something_ about yourself."

She patted my arm, like saying 'Okay, you'll get over it, you're not hopeless', got up and left me there.

What… just… happened?

I'd have to worry about it later. As I stood, snow flaked began to fall on the open field in front of me. I breathed out and steam came from between my lips.

"Don't get killed, Edward." Emmett requested, coming to my side. "You still owe me money."

Exactly 3 dollars and 65 cents. I didn't even remember what I'd bought with them. I never had any pocket change. Emmett complained that someone as rich as me should never be about with less than three hundred, but I hadn't touched my parents' bank accounts since the murder, and a Navy pilot doesn't make enough money to carry three hundred bucks in his butt pocket.

My dad's lawyer handled the accounts, sent me reviews (that I hardly ever read) once a month, and took care of the general business. My mother's best friend Kate, an amazing business woman (and Tanya's sister) handled the company.

I hadn't gone to business school. I had dreamt of being a pianist. Father used to encourage me, he believed one should pursue what makes him happy, regardless of anyone else's expectations… he knew he'd made enough money for me to be comfortable, even long after I made my life as a musician.

Why was I thinking so much of my parents? I hadn't spared a thought towards them in over five years.

"If I get shot," I said, ignoring his flinch. "it's your troop, Emmett. Keep them together, keep them alive."

"You're better than me." He mumbled, pale.

I smiled. "I'm really not, Emmet. Not by any chance, not at anything."

"Dude, you're the third best sniper in the Navy."

"Fourth."

"Whatever, shit." He snarled. "Just don't get killed, or I swear to God I'll find away to bring you back and kill you again."

"Well, that would be a waste of time." I smirked.

"Edward," Carlisle touched my arm.

Time to flee. If Carlisle started asking me not to get killed I'd just have to humor him. Emmett I could ignore, but I knew I couldn't handle disappointing Carlisle.

So I grinned at him, and I knew I was being a little shit—he knew it too, judging by his face—but I walked right out on him. If I was going to die in less than two minutes, I wanted it to be not whining like a little bitch. That was too pathetic even for my standards.

I thought of crouching down and walking low, safer, but then that would defeat the purpose of my risking my life to be bait, so I didn't bother. Besides, I figured if I was going to get shot, I might as well make sure it's in the head, ensuring a quick death.

I really didn't have a dying speech prepared. I figured 'I wanna thank all my fans, and my mom and my dad out there, I love ya guyz!' wouldn't go over very well. Although it would certainly be memorable.

I walked slowly, studying the terrain at my feet. The ground was firm and level beneath my boots, a mixture of dirt and sand. The grass was up to my hipbones and very rough, with sharp edges that made small shallow cuts that stung like shit. The snowflakes were piling upon them and they were beginning to bend. Hell, if I wasn't expecting to die any moment, I'd think it was beautiful. I shook my head to get them off my hair. It was damp and I was pretty cold. Some flakes stuck in my reddish stubble.

I walked approximately twenty one minutes before I got to what I could evaluate to be the middle of the field. I ran into the old corpse of an animal, likely a cow or a bull judging by the size. Only the bones and the old leather like skin remained, and the skeleton was lying on its side and buried up to the spine in the ground. It had been there for some time. The grass hadn't grown around it.

I stared at it for a while. I felt oddly mesmerized by its shape, the color of its bones in the moonlight, the way the snowflakes perched on the leather. I reached my hand to bat away a butterfly and realized my skin was almost the exact same color than the bones.

Eerie.

I'd always been unhealthily pale. With the bullet and the bite wounds I'd lost quite a bit of blood. I wasn't eating well, I was pushing myself and I was drinking too little water. I suddenly understood why Carlisle was so worried about me. I felt a spear of guilt about not letting him talk to me before. I should know better. Carlisle cared about me.

One of the few that still did.

I looked up and calculated quickly. I'd been standing there for five minutes now. Twenty six minutes out on the open field and I still had all my body parts.

We were evidently not being watched. Or we were, and they didn't want _me_ dead. Like the other time when I threw myself over Bella. They wouldn't shoot through me. It irked me because it didn't fit. I was a liability, and an annoying one at that. If they were smart they would _want_ me dead.

So why wasn't I? That was off. There had to be something behind that. I was a strategist; if I were in their position, I would aim first to kill the leader. A headless body is easy to destroy. If I died, according to the chain of command Emmett would take my place. They'd kill Emmett, and then Rosalie, and then I just had no idea who was next in the chain of command. Most likely Carlisle. Carlisle would be a good leader, if only he were willing to give orders.

I turned to look over my shoulder and made a brusque gesture with my head, indicating it was clear and they could move out. I had twenty minutes of time to think on my own, and I would use them wisely.

So, back on track, that meant that besides Bella and Alice, I should be a primary target. Eventually they'd figure out I was the leader. I stood out; tall, lanky, peculiar color of hair, too pale skin, eyes too bright. They could mark me easily.

I was exposing myself too much. Always on the head of the line, always navigating, putting myself in these positions. I was being stupid. The troop needed me; this wasn't common arrogance, this was a fact. I was the best strategist. We were in enemy ground and they needed me. I needed to cover myself and keep myself healthy for them. I would have to start delegating responsibilities. That which I didn't have to absolutely do on my own, I would give to someone else. That person would be in danger so I would have to rotate them.

A hand gently touched my shoulder. I smiled at Carlisle, and he arched an eyebrow. I didn't move as Emmet and Newton passed us, and I joined the line after Maxwell and Julian.

"Your mood swings are giving us all whiplash, Edward." He warned, sensing my disposition.

"Yeah, well. I'm sorry."

He looked at me. "Okay." He looked away and paused for a second, then frowned slightly. "Mm, what about?"

I laughed quietly. "You took my apologies before you even knew what they were for?"

"Edward, you do a lot of bad things. I take your apologies whenever I can."

That shut me up. Well, he deserved to get no apology, but I'd never get any sleep if I did something evil to Carlisle Cullen—I was sure some God in some religion—if not all of them—would strike me with lightening for upsetting the man. Everybody liked him too much.

"About earlier." I ground out.

Carlisle looked at me, his eyes knowing. "Ah. You were afraid I would ask you to survive."

I nodded and looked away.

"Well, I am not going to use your guilt to try and make you understand how much you would have hurt me and Esme but letting yourself die." He said, and I flinched. He said that, but he _was_ using guilt! Unbelievable. The conniving bastard!

Well played.

"We don't have children." He added and the sword went right through. "You know how we feel about you." well, twist the blade, why don't you?

"Yes, I get it, thanks." I nearly whined.

"Instead, I'll make you feel much more horrible."

That's a friend for you.

"Think about what Bella would feel, if you got killed, here trying to rescue her… in front of her."

Well, he was a little _shit_. I guess that's how far one's willing to go for a friend. But in any case, it wasn't like I was suicidal. The idea of suicide always seemed way too pathetic. I wasn't a whiny bitch; if I disliked something I changed it. I didn't sit around crying for my misery and generally being wretched.

"I hate you." I whispered hoarsely.

He laughed out loud, and I pushed him with my elbow.

And just then Maxwell was shot in the back and he fell like a broken doll to the sandy dirt, dead.

"HIT THE GROUND!" I screamed, and dragged Carlisle down.

What… the _**FUCK**_!?


	5. Assault

**Chapter 5. ****Assault.**

**/Edward/ **

"Brandon, Swan!" I yelled, getting to my knees. "Get over here _right now_!"

"Jasper's hurt!" Bella screamed back, and I blanched.

"Just grazed my head." He said, but his voice sounded dazed, and I didn't like it.

"I'm going to—" No I'm not. I'm _delegating_, remember? "Cullen. Go get Whitlock!"

Carlisle nodded, rolling and turning around to crawl his way to where Bella and Alice were on the ground with Jasper and Newton.

"Julian. Where did the bullet come from?"

"Ah…"

"Julian!" I growled.

"Er, left—I don't _know_!"

Did he even _go_ to boot camp?

I dragged myself across the ground to where Maxwell kept twitching.

Postmortem nerve reaction—I knew this, but it still bothered me. I wish he would just stay completely still.

I'd seen him fall; the shot had reached the base of his neck to the right, ripping off the aorta artery and part of the spine. He'd fallen with the memento of the impact, rotating to the left, which meant the shot had come from the right, from within the woods behind us.

"Birkoff, Hale, Cormack, Lee!" I waited until they got to my side, and then whispered their orders. Once I was done, Emmet and Rose shared a look of hesitation. I felt a hot wave of irritation that I immediately suppressed.

"_Go_!" I barked at them, and they spread apart, disappearing into the tall grass. I evaluated the height of the grass and decided I could crouch without the danger of having the top of my skull blown off.

"Please get down," a voice begged right by me. I turned back to look at Bella, pressed against the ground as she moved towards me.

"Come here," I hissed, and grabbed her parka by the shoulder, pulling her closer. I slipped my arm under her stomach and pulled her to her hands and knees. Alice was behind her, closely followed by Jasper and Carlisle. Jasper's face was half covered in blood and already bandaged. His eyes were heavy lidded—classical symptom of concussion caused by sudden impact to the skull. In the shock caused by the pain of the bullet that grazed his head, he had most likely fallen and hit his head hard against the ground. It was the worst possible situation; I needed him sharp and he would be disoriented _at best_, lacking the crucial attention needed.

No time to worry about that now. Cullen would handle it.

"We're about a ten minute walk away from the edge of the forest. Stay down, don't make a sound. Julian, Newton, Carter, Christensen, you're with them. Williams, you're with me. Newton, get your compass."

Newton was as stupid as they come, but he could follow orders perfectly well. I gave him the correct directions on the compass, directing him to keep everyone together and crouched down low before turning to Williams.

"What are you going to do?" Bella demanded, looking very pale. "If you try to be bait I will slap you."

I smirked. "No. We're going to go ahead of you and make sure the terrain is clear."

I felt the sudden and ridiculous urge to crush my lips to hers. I shoved it to the back of my mind and pushed her towards Newton, though my skin literally crawled at the thought of her close to him. My hand lingered on the curved small of her back, feeling comfortable there—I snatched it away.

Carlisle's eyes flickered to me immediately, and widened. I felt a rush of cold charge through my spine and whirled around lifting the rifle.

The butt of the other man's rifle was already descending. No time to dodge it—I lifted my shoulder and threw myself to the side, feeling the butt slam against the top of my shoulder right next to the bullet wound. Bella screamed. It hurt like a motherfucker, but nothing broke. I preferred the blow to the shoulder rather than to the top of my skull. I fell to my side, momentarily stunned by the pain. Carlisle threw himself across me, hitting the man in the jaw, the pain dropping him to the ground. I struggled to gather my wits through the pain and flinched back when the man's rifle spat two shots, before Carlisle snatched it away.

The guy twisted on the ground and shot his arm up. I cried out; Carlisle was only basically trained in combat. He managed to turn his head and expose the side of his neck instead of his throat, but still fell back in shock to the ground as the guy landed a hit to his neck. I leaped at the guy's throat, grabbing his head and slamming it against a rock. His skull split and he was dead before I could blink. Just as I began to get off him another one came at me from the right.

His shoulder slammed against my broken rip. He tried to grab me by the neck and deliberately hit my injured shoulder. I cried out loudly, and Christensen was on him a heartbeat later, pressing his hunting knife to his throat.

"Let go of him," he hissed. A drop of blood rolled out from the edge of the knife.

Newton appeared by my side, slipping his hands under my arms and dragging me out a few feet. I coughed and spat blood. I'd bit the inside of my cheek pretty hard; it was bleeding profusely.

"Cullen." I choked out, and spat again. Newton gave me his water bottle and I rinsed my mouth, careful not to swallow. Never swallow blood. I coats your stomach and makes you sick, not to mention what it does once it coagulates.

"Out cold!" Christensen answered. I got to my knees and swayed, crying out in pain. My forehead touched the ground, my stomach lurched and I dry heaved.

"Edward." Gentle hands touched my cheek, moved back my hair. A stronger pair of arms lifted me to an upright position, careful to stay well clear of my broken rib.

"Edward, breathe carefully." Jasper. I kept my eyes shut, trying to fight the nausea.

"Cullen's coming about," Carter informed, and I was so relieved I sagged against Jasper.

"Edward, loosen your arm." Bella was tugging at my wrist, and I made a conscious effort to obey her, but my shoulder surged with white hot pain and I moaned.

"Oh, no." Bella's voice was anguished. She wrapped her arms carefully around my shoulders and pressed a gentle kiss to my temple. "I need to see your rib, please. I know it hurts, baby, but you just have to."

I shivered at her name—baby. So _sweet_. I swallowed and un-wrapped my arms from around my torso. Jasper's hand under my arm kept me still and upright as Bella unzipped my overall and, Carter, now apparently satisfied that Carlisle was fine, came to me with his basic medical knowledge.

Just as he reached me, shots erupted from behind us. I tried to move but Jasper tightened his hand, grasping my arm.

"Don't! It could be fractured," he said, his accent too thick. He was still feeling the concussion. "You'll puncture a lung."

"Why the fuck didn't he just shoot me?" I asked. "I was right there, with my back to him. Why am I alive?"

"Stop it!" Bella hissed.

I glared at her. "Shut up!" I barked. "I'm serious. He had me. I should be dead. Why am I being kept alive?" Because I was. And as the words dawned on me, I had to sit back. I could feel the blood leave my face. Suddenly the cold bit into my skin, and I shivered violently.

"Don't you _ever_ tell me to shut up again, or so help me god you will regret it—and what do you mean, being kept alive?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

Exactly that. They didn't_ want_ to kill me. I couldn't explain it, so I just shook my head slowly, eyes fixed in the snowflakes that continued to fall around us. The shooting had quieted in the distance, and I was pretty certain one of the two parties had won. I hoped to _God_ it was Rosalie and Emmet.

Carter's hands were busy on my chest. It hurt like shit, but I had bigger concerns, and Bella kept running her nimble fingers through my snow damped hair, though I was only vaguely aware of her, because _why the fuck wasn't I dead_!?

I would have to think about that later, though.

The silence in my mind suddenly snapped. My eyes flickered down to Carter, kneeling in front of me and spraying my side with painkiller. Carlisle was sitting up, his hand cupping his throat. William's hand hovered behind his back, ready to catch him should he topple over. He looked pained. He was damned lucky. The bastard could have broken his trachea and killed him instantaneously.

"Christensen, Julian, secure the perimeter!" I ordered, forcing my eyes to focus. "Whitlock, sit down, you're swaying. Does he speak English, Christensen?"

"We'll find out soon enough," the tall black man growled, pulling on the chords he'd used to secure our prisoner by the wrists and elbows.

"I can't tell without x-ray but the bone at the top of your shoulder seems to be cracked," Carter said. "If I spray it you won't be able to shoot for a few hours."

"I'll tolerate it; help me put my overall back on."

Tolerating pain when in a field mission is always a mistake. If you neglect what your body tells you, eventually it throws away the subtle signals and just shuts down. The last thing we needed was my body to shut down, but I just couldn't go around unable to shoot.

I needed to keep moving, whatever it took. I staggered to my feet and straightened slowly. I sighed when I reached my full height and carefully moved my shoulder, balancing the rifle against my hipbone.

"Are you sure you can do that?" Bella asked wearily.

"Sure." I said. "Apparently, I don't even need it. I'm not being targeted. Stay close to me!" I said coolly, my mind already returning to the familiar land of sarcasm.

"Commander!" Emmet and Rosalie joined us from the left. Rose had been grazed in the arm, but they were otherwise unharmed. "We found ten. They had radios. I couldn't shoot them before they talked on them, so we can assume we're still being hunted." Cormack joined us from the other side, limping.

"Lee's dead." He said, handing me the name plate.

I nodded grimly, pocketing the plate. "Get Maxwell's plate," I ordered to no one in particular, and turned around to look at our newest and unwilling addition. Christensen forced him to sit up, his arms very well secured behind his back.

I crouched down in front of him and studied his face. He was mildly good looking, with strong features and intelligent eyes. The loathing in his eyes was unexpected and deep. I supposed I should understand that; being in the US Navy, lots and lots of people all across the world hated me, but it still struck a nerve and it still irritated me. I usually loved to tease the people I knew despised me—it amused me. Now wasn't the time to be annoying, though, so I skipped.

"Get him up," I said to Christensen, and stood up straight. "We're going to the cover of the woods. Birkoff, navigate." I walked to Carlisle and nudged his thigh with my boot. "On your feet, Cullen," I said without hostility and he obeyed immediately. Here was a good soldier.

My movements got easier as I grew accustomed to the pain in my shoulder, and now I could move at normal speed. I walked behind Christensen and the captive, silently contemplating. Maxwell and Lee were dead. Those deaths touched way too close for comfort. It was one thing to have your men die in a helicopter crash, and another thing entirely to have them die in front of you or on a mission you assigned them. I would have to live with the knowledge of what it felt like to send a man to his death.

It was true, great, undiluted power.

It made me sick.

"What are we going to do with the guy?" Rose asked.

"Get some answers."

"We don't have much time." She said. "We have to go across the mountain to Pickup before 2100 hours, remember. We have a little less than twenty six hours."

"We'll make it. It'll take me an hour tops. I know my interrogation techniques."

"Not torture, I hope." She hissed.

I shrugged. "Depends on what you call torture. If you define it by the usual standards then no, I won't torture him. I forgot my pincers, see." I explained, half teasing. Half! He'd almost _killed Carlisle_.

"You're sinister, you know that right?"

"I'm sick. Tell me about it," I sighed. I was quiet for a while, calculating.

We reached the cover of the woods and continued on for about half an hour before I stopped them. "Christensen, tie the bastard to that tree," I directed, as the group gathered around me.

"Birkoff, you're leading. Keep a good pace and head straight, don't round obstacles."

"You're not navigating anymore?" he asked, confused.

"I'm staying behind to ask some questions." I glanced at the prisoner, who sneered at me. Well, he spoke English alright. "I'll catch up before the birds get there."

"Son of a bitch. I thought you were over risking yourself, and started delegating shit," Emmett said harshly. He'd been paying more attention than I thought.

I gave him an even look. "I'm the only one here that was trained in interrogation techniques. You didn't reach the necessary average at boot-camp, remember?"

Emmet looked appropriately chastised.

"I'll catch up, Em. I promise I'll be there. I just need some answers."

"What _for_? We're almost there. We can go _home_! Who cares who he works for? He ain't catching us _anyway_." He was almost whining, and I grinned.

"There's something else, Em. I gotta know." Why I wasn't dead, to begin with.

"You never gave a shit, why now, of all times?"

"It's different," I said, eyeing the prisoner. "Go." I pressed, looking back at Emmett. "Go on, take them."

Emmet gave me an unhappy look, but rounded everyone up and started to walk away.

"This is insane. I don't like it." Bella grasped my arm. "Please come. Just leave him here."

"If I go with you, will you tell me the truth?" I asked.

She paled. Her fingers loosened on my arm. "No, probably not."

"Then get out of here."

"Give up!" she begged. "It's for your own good, Edward!"

"So you keep saying, but I guess I can't be sure, can I? Go."

"What good is the _truth_ if it gives you nothing but misery and pain? What do you want it for?" Her eyes were filled with tears and I didn't know what to make of it. Nothing could be that bad.

What did she know? I frowned, slightly concerned.

I shook my head. I wasn't giving in. Neither was she, and fury burned suddenly in her eyes.

"You have no _right_!" she hissed. I saw Rosalie coming closer from the corner of my eye, but stood very still. "This isn't your truth to know!"

"I've bled over it!" I snapped. "It is now! Men died for your photos, so don't come to me with rights! These lives, your life, are all my responsibility!"

"You'll know someday," she whispered.

"I'll know today!" I replied darkly, and roughly grabbed her around the shoulders, whirled her around and pushed her to Rose. The blonde's eyes widened; she would break my nose in the near future, her expression told me as much.

Bella turned right back, her eyes ablaze and the slap she gave me snapped my head to the side and stung like a motherfucker.

"If you ever manhandle me again…"she allowed the threat to hang, and it did its effect. I believed her. Her anger wasn't kittenish at all right now.

I stared at her, and I knew my eyes were bright. Rosalie and the rest had frozen and were staring at us like a tornado was coming their way. They were wrong. The only tornado about was very securely set around the two of us, unlikely to shift away. She was a storm in herself and I was a snarl of untamed wind. I didn't know which way to go; she seemed very capable of showing me.

I absolutely had to. I had never wanted anyone as much as I wanted her right now. I grabbed the back of her neck and crushed my lips to hers. She bit my bottom lip on purpose and my hand went around her small waist. One of her hands tangled painfully in my hair, and the other grabbed my shoulder. I pressed her so close I could feel her frame through her gigantic parka.

I licked her bottom lip and she opened her mouth for me, letting me deepen the kiss—before she bit me again, _hard_, and pulled away, shoving at my chest. I let her go, the grin already spreading through my lips.

She slapped me again and I laughed.

"I told you it would be unwelcome!" I called to Rose, who was laughing behind Bella.

"You pretentious bastard!" Bella fumed. Alice rushed to her side, grasping her hand.

"Ah, alright. Settle down," I told her, and smiled fondly. "Here, don't hate me. I'll go with you," I offered, flashing my best 'you know you love me' grin.

"You better, or I'll skin you, pig."

I laughed. She was back to being a miffed kitten. I wondered if the cartoonish facet of her anger was linked to my mood at the moment I was faced with it. When I was angry too, she was scary, but when I was a good spirits, she was funny. Weird.

"Okay, calm down." I crouched down in front of the prisoner and tugged at his ties, to make sure they were tight. Christensen was an expert in navy knots, and he had done a good job of it.

"I don't know why you didn't kill me before," I told him quietly. "But I'll return the favor and let you live. I _will_ find out. If you tell me now, I'll set you free. I don't know how long it will take for men to come this way and find you. Likely wolves will find you first."

He snarled at me.

"Alright then, suit yourself," I said with disdain, then straightened.

The reverse psychology didn't help—he didn't scream for me after I'd walked away, like they always did in the movies. But really, who cared? Right now I was too smug to give a shit about why I had been kept alive.

It was alright. I could change. _Would_ change. I didn't need instant gratification about this. She would tell me in her time. I would wait a hundred years, so long as I could just kiss her again, and again, and _again_, a thousand times a day.


	6. RabbitHole Fiasco

**Chapter 6. ****The Rabbit-Hole Fiasco. **

**/Edward/ **

Pickup was in a clearing in the woods, not nearly big enough to shelter a helicopter. That meant it would be an air mission, pick up and leave swiftly. The overalls we were wearing were of course equipped with a built in harness for these kinds of situations, but Alice and Bella didn't have those, so someone would have to carry them. Jasper was going to want to carry Alice, but I would have to decline his wish—he was too battered. Emmet would do it. Carlisle could take care of Bella. My shoulder and rib wouldn't be able to hold both our weights.

Within the woods I found a nice niche in the ground; I suspected it to be an old rabbit hole from a civil war. I posted Christensen and Carter on guard duty in the nearby trees, and Williams and Cormack to keep a close eye from the hole. Then I relaxed against the side and closed my eyes, sighing.

"I should change your bandages," Carlisle said softly. His voice was rough and his neck was sporting a very nasty looking bruise.

I shrugged. "We'll be at the _Forks_ in three hours, and then you can tie me to a bed and pinch me full of tubes and all sort of shiny medical stuff."

"I will," he warned.

"I believe you." I grinned.

He sighed. "May I at least look at your arm?"

"It's fine. Stop worrying." I gestured to Jasper with my chin. "He gonna make it?"

"It's no deadly wound," Carlisle said. "He's just in quite a lot of pain."

"_Just_." I arched my eyebrows.

"You're far worse than him," Carlisle said firmly. "A dislocated shoulder and a mild concussion never killed anyone."

I shifted and grimaced. "I'll admit I'll feel like a punching bag. I'm black and blue all over."

"Your cheek is red," He offered helpfully.

I snorted. "She has a good arm."

I glanced at her, smirking, and she frowned. The stolen kiss from earlier had not yet been forgotten or forgiven. But her anger was endearing and as always, I enjoyed annoying someone that was angry with me. She didn't seem to appreciate the amusement, but then I admit my humor is rather twisted. It's my very personal brand, a careful mix of irony, sarcasm, and being an asshole.

"You'll be going to hell soon," he said.

"Well, I might as well do it thoroughly," I said, and got up. I only had to walk two steps to let myself fall on Bella's side. I grinned at her, my special crooked grin, and wiggled my eyebrows.

"Bored?"

"You suggest you could remedy that?" she asked skeptically.

"I might."

"I think I'll pass."

"Don't be difficult. I won't think you're easy just because you let me kiss you."

"I didn't exactly _let_ you."

"You imply you weren't enjoying it?" I arched a skeptical eyebrow, myself.

"You know what, Masen? You just rub me the wrong way," she said quietly, her eyes narrowed.

Alice, who was sitting at her other side, rolled her eyes. "You know, I happen to think he rubs you just the _right_ way, and with the right amount of pressure too," she drawled.

Bella blushed violently and whirled on her. I laughed out loud and immediately stifled it to chuckles.

"Alice!" she hissed.

"This just got a little too '_Sex and The City'_ for me," Jasper muttered.

"Actually, this kind of talk between women is always amusing," I said. "You wouldn't _believe_ the things I've heard."

"Really?" Alice asked, grinning. "What did you learn?"

"Ah, well," I said, thinking. "I learned where the G spot is and that when a guy has trouble… functioning, he still needs to help the lady," I said delicately, and grinned like the jerk that I am.

"Sure." Alice nodded solemnly. "Just because he can't 'function' doesn't mean I've gotta go without."

"Well, you won't have that trouble over there, I've heard," I supplied, gesturing to Jasper. His blue eyes shot to mine, glacier cold, but he remained silent. A nice, delicate blush was spreading over his pale cheeks. I loved mortifying Jasper. It was just so _easy_!

"Jazz!" Alice laughed, grasping his wrist. "You have a _reputation_?"

He groaned and shifted, self-conscious. "No one's ever complained," he muttered.

Alice laughed again and looked at me. "How did _you_ hear that?"

I shrugged. "It's the word on the ship." I grinned.

"What's the word on the ship regarding you?" Bella asked suspiciously but interested.

"I wouldn't know. It's not like they come and tell you." Like hell they don't. I just didn't want to make it easy. You try and keep a secret on a closed community floating in the middle of the sea, where there are no distractions except the occasional combat drill and gossip. I never slept with any Navy women, out of respect for the institution, but I did have my reputation when the _Forks_ docked.

"They say he can last a whole night," Jasper drawled monotonously.

My grin threatened to split my face.

"I thought you'd started that yourself," Jazz said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I go around telling everyone I'm a sex god," I said sarcastically. "I'm all for the opening line 'I'm Edward Masen; I can fu—"

"Edward!" Jasper sat up, hissing. Oh, right. He was polite. No cursing in front of women. I cleared my throat. They raise them good boys down in Texas, y'all. And if that don't put the pepper on the gumbo… I don't know what _would_! I suppressed a snicker.

"—Like I was saying, Shakespeare often used his daily life as inspiration for his many works," I finished with a flawless English accent and a marvelous scholar tone.

"_Must_ you murder my accent?" Carlisle complained.

I snorted. "You British always complain about everyone's accent. The least you can do is hand over material for jokes and laughs."

"I'm glad I amuse you," he said drolly.

"Aw, Carlisle, I'm laughing _with_ you, not _at_ you."

"I beg to differ."

"How very English of you."

"I can hurt you," he arched his brows, his eyes narrowed. Like he expected me to believe he would deliberately hurt any living creature.

I snorted.

"Don't be an asshole," Bella complained.

I glanced at her, but settled down. I rested against the wall at her side and rolled my head back, closing my eyes. Jasper was singing something very gently, and everyone hushed to listen to his voice.

"I won't apologize for slapping you," she said quietly, so her voice carried only to me. "You deserved it."

"Yeah. I guess I did," I murmured. But I wasn't apologizing either. I'd liked that kiss and I was going to try and get another one, soon. With the way she'd kissed me back, I was now certain she felt the same tension I did, and once I knew that, all my hesitations had been swept away.

"You have to listen!" She grasped my wrist and I looked at her, serious. "I'll tell you someday; when it's over. I'll find you and tell you myself. Until then, you _have_ to wait."

"Who's after you? Will you be safe in the US?"

She gave me a small smile that chilled my blood.

"Fuck, Bella. What did you get yourself into?" I leaned closer to her, my nerves thrumming with the natural instinct to protect her frail body, and I twisted my wrist to get it out of her hold. Instead I grabbed her hand firmly, and immediately relaxed my grip when I became aware of the delicacy of her bones.

"How can I protect you?" I asked her. Then it came to me.

"Bella, I have _money_—I can arrange for it back home." I was gleeful. I started braiding ideas in my mind, connecting, calculating. Yes, I remembered reading something about a security agency on our payroll, or at least on our investment list. I'd call Kate. I could have them send bodyguards to protect Bella. Private bodyguards were always better than the Police. They were expensive so they had more motivation. I wondered if she would do with two or maybe I'd have to hire three—maybe a driver too. They would have to be armed, of course.

Oh, I needed to get her an armored car. I sifted through my extensive knowledge of expensive car companies—Audi, BMW, Ferrari, Honda… Mercedes-Benz—_Oh_! That was marvelous. The new S-Guard series should be up for the job; maybe the latest, S600? It wasn't out on the market, but pulling some strings and liberally spreading money I could get one. Plus, my dad had known the Mercedes-Benz CEO, and I was almost certain we had investments in the company…

A good, nice armored car and reliable armed guards should suffice to ensure her safety. And Alice's. Hell! I had completely forgotten about her, but of course I would loop her in as well. One butterfly, two butterflies, whatever. I should double the guard, though. And ensure heavy weaponry, maybe…

Actually, I had weapons permission. And an entire collection of rifles and small weapons. I could protect Bella myself… that would be less conspicuous if she had to hide from her enemy. The thing was I was posted to the _Forks_… But that was easily remedied. I would retire. Easy! Snap of my fingers and I was out. I could do whatever I wanted, I was rich and powerful.

For once, I could think of a good thing I actually wanted to use my fortune for. It was just sitting in my numerous bank accounts, growing and gathering interests and cobwebs. I could use it. Only one bank account would buy us the best security available. If it wasn't enough we would move to Europe. My mother had had an island somewhere off of the shores of Greece, we could move there. If they found us, we'd set off with my father's sailboat, the _Dragonfly_. Was it still there? Did it even float? No matter. I'd just as easily buy another one.

"_Forget_ it!" Bella hissed, snapping me from my planning. Oh, right. She had to _agree_.

"Don't you even _think_ of getting involved in this mess. Use your money to erase the fact that you ever knew me, Edward."

"Ah." I leaned closer. "Say it again."

"Say what? Stay away? Sure. _Stay away_. "

"My _name_."

She hesitated, and smiled sweetly—and then scowled. "No. You'll kiss me again. Sit back down and be quiet."

I chuckled and obeyed. I rolled my head back against the dirt and sighed. She still held my hand between both of hers, and her fingers were making a gentle, ticklish exploration of my skin.

It lulled me. I had a couple of hours to sleep, before the Pickup time, so I allowed my body to relax. I set my internal clock for twenty minutes before Pickup. As I relaxed, my knee fell slightly open and my thigh rested against the length of hers. Her heat burned me through our clothes.

An hour and forty minutes later, I snapped awake. My sharp intake of breath startled Bella, and she raised her head from my shoulder just as I turned, surprised, to her. The top of her head collided with my nose. I groaned and she moaned.

Jasper, Rose and Emmet snickered and Alice giggled.

"Comfortable?" I asked, sullen.

"No!" she hissed.

"Babe, you're not the one with the broken nose, so don't venom me," I warned, sitting up.

"Don't call me 'babe'," she demanded.

"You called me baby earlier," I replied.

"You were in pain."

"You seem pained." I observed her teary eyes.

"I collided against your rock of a head. What did you expect?"

I paused, staring at her. My eyebrow arched. "You don't take very well to waking up, huh?"

"I'm not a morning person," she muttered.

"Mm." _I_ was a morning person. I would tease her about that. For the moment, I crouched and went over to Williams.

"Any movements?"

"A rabbit, earlier," he shrugged. "We're on our own."

I nodded. "I'm going to contact A.C. to confirm Pickup schedule."

There were curt nods all around. Emmet and Rose turned and assumed guard duty. Jasper and Carlisle dragged Bella and Alice deeper down the rabbit hole.

"A.C. _Forks_, this is Hawkeye 07, code 9-11-28-43, we are at Pickup. Request to confirm Pickup schedule, over." I waited, using the back of my hand to scratch my stubble.

A small interference noise announced the reply. A gush or relief washed over me. "_Hawkeye 07, repeat your last transmission_."

"I repeat, we are at Pickup, I request to confirm Pickup schedule."

There was a longer pause. "_Hawkeye 07, this is Eagle Eye_."

I straightened, blinking. The Admiral himself?

"Sir?" I said tentatively.

"_Hawkeye, we discussed this. The Pickup was aborted_."

Blood turned cold in my veins. I stared ahead, eyes unblinking. There were so many pairs of eyes fixed on me I couldn't count them.

"**What!?**" I hissed savagely. "Why the fuck!?"

"_Tone down, Hawkeye_," Eagle Eye reprimanded. "_You requested it._"

"I requested no such thing! I have been on radio silence since the crash!"

"_We talked yesterday in the morning_—"

"We did _not_, Eagle Eye," I bit out. "I've been maintaining radio silence as we moved. This is my first contact since the twenty ninth of November. I was given orders of silence and I kept them!"

There was a long pause.

"_Hawkeye, get your people on their feet and move_," Eagle Eye ordered. "_Someone's been playing dress up_."

"Where do you suggest I take them?" I said scathingly.

"Should I rent a hotel room in the city? You'll cover the expenses?" Now I wasn't cold—I was on fire. My throat was constricted with fury. I could barely speak. I felt the immediate need to do violence, to destroy. "If you don't get us out of here—"

My eyes met Alice's. She was pale and haggard, though she looked composed. Fuck. I couldn't finish the phrase, it would scare her shitless.

Besides, I just realized something.

_They knew where we were. _

"I'll contact again when we are at a safe zone," I said firmly. "Hawkeye 07 out."

I closed the channel and shoved the radio into my pocket.

"Troop, gather up," I ordered, and crouched down as they all did the same around me. I pulled Bella's hand and she pressed against my side, looking white-ish. I rested my hand on its back on my thigh, relaxed, and her fingers immediately found their way to it. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, even though I had absolutely no idea how I was going to get us out of this fuck of a situation.

"You all heard what's happened. Someone out here has one of our radios, knows how to operate it, and knows my code. I don't know how that came about and it doesn't matter. It means we're in a hell of a lot more trouble than I thought. If they had the radio to begin with, they know our numbers, and they know we have the girls. We can't be rescued, so we're going to have to stay in the ground. That means evasive actions—and we're too many people for that to be an effective strategy. Groups as large as this are difficult to hide and protect. We're going to have to split."

I saw more than one flinch and Bella's fingers tightened in my hand.

"Listen. You are all well trained Navy men—and women." I smirked at Rose and she smiled wryly back, strained. "So you know your stuff. You stay low, you stay clear. Move in silence. If you think you're being followed, you change course drastically. You _know_ these things. You don't need me."

I paused and allowed my gaze to travel over all of them, calculating and making matches to determine who should go with whom.

I had thirteen people under my watch. Emmet, Rose, Williams, Cormack and Christensen were all elite soldiers. I did some math, evening the capabilities of each person, and came up with a fair distribution.

"Birkoff, Hale, Julian." Julian was apparently useless, so he needed to be flanked with competent people. Also, while some might say it was detrimental to pair two people so obviously concerned with each other together, I disagreed. They would be unable to think straight if they didn't know if the other one was safe, and they would be tenacious in their protection of one another. Better for them to be within sight.

"Cormack, Carter, Newton." An elite, an average and a dimwit. Fantastic!

"Brandon, Whitlock, Christensen, Williams." Two elite to compensate for Jasper's injuries. He was very good, if not exactly elite, but his wounds were to be considered. I trusted Christensen, especially with my own life, and coming from someone as selfish and self-centered as I am is no small deal.

"Cullen and Swan are with me," I finished, and paused again. "Make your way to the city; You all have your charts and your compasses. Keep up a good step, don't move slowly. Once you're in the city try to get civilian clothes and make the radio communications few, far between and cryptic. I wish I could keep track of all of you but I'm afraid you're on your own. I've done all I can do keeping us together, but any more on that road is going to get us all killed. I'll see you all at the _Forks_." I swallowed and grinned.

I watched as the groups quickly decided who the navigator would be (Emmett, Cormack, Christensen). I conferenced with them about which route each would follow; Christensen had to have the easiest ground—he had an injured man and a civilian in tow, and his group was the largest. Emmett knew he could push his little group to amazing heights so I agreed he took the longest, harshest path. Cormack would lead his group along the river and then change drastically to the main roads, where the enemy would think we would _never_ go.

My route was relatively easy, though a-hell-of-a-lot riskier. I could live with that, though; I was the best and Carlisle was above the average. Bella would struggle, but she would keep up.

Ten minutes later, we separated. I took Bella and Carlisle back into the mountain, as I intended to follow the mountain path down its side towards the low lands of the forests, in to the city. I could get us there in three days, pushing it. And I would push it.

"Bella, this is going to be hell for you for a minimum of the next three days," I said quietly. "If you feel very tired you need to tell Carlisle immediately. We might be able to stop for a few hours' sleep from time to time but no more than a couple at a time and it will be far between each stop."

"We don't have much in the way of food and water anymore either," Carlisle said, concerned.

"I know. I'd hunt, but I can't shoot my rifle and risk the noise. Water we can take from the river when we go down, I'll go and you'll stay hidden. The food does worry me."

"I've spent two days without eating before," Bella said timidly. Both Carlisle and I stared at her.

"What? This is a war zone, guys. It happens."

I shook my head and kept on walking. She'd never be hungry again once I got her to come with me, but for the time being I would have to suck it up and trust her strength.

I worked better with pressure; in fact I thrived under it. I had good reactions. And, hell, I was in a fair amount of pressure as it was, but just in case my fucked up subconscious decided to play old tricks and I got myself deliberately in the line of danger for nothing at all, I decided to set myself an objective for after the mission, for once this whole shit was done.

I had to live to wrap my power around Bella and make her untouchable back home. I was powerful enough, with my investment company and my several generous bank accounts.

But I needed to keep myself alive to see that day.

I was thinking about that and paying attention to the road, and thinking how she was so defenseless, so helpless. How Carlisle and I would need to be around her at all times. I frowned at an insect and swatted it against my left side carelessly, and my hand slapped against the solid form of the semiautomatic 9mm military issue gun under my overall.

I stopped and turned to Bella as I unzipped the overall.

"Can you shoot a pistol?" I asked as I unbuckled the holster from around my torso.

"Yes—my dad's a police chief, but… don't give it to me, Edward," she pleaded.

I shook my head. "Take off your parka."

"Edward—"

I shook my head again, this time accompanying it with a hard look, and slipped my fingers under the straps of her backpack to slide it off her shoulders. I was aware it was delicate because the cameras were in there, so once it was free of her arms I gave it to Carlisle.

The medic was looking at me like he wanted to speak up against my decision, but he knew I wasn't wrong. He hesitated and I took the chance to glower at him, crushing his protests before they even reached his lips.

I reached for the zipper on the parka's neck and she grasped my fingers, looking nervous. "Please don't, really. I don't want to carry that with me."

"Humor me," I insisted, and freed my hands and unzipped the parka, pushing it off her slender shoulders. I tried not to think in the fact that I was basically undressing her—which I wanted to do very badly, only my ideal conditions would be completely naked, in a bed instead of some forest and preferably away from Carlisle—but my mind was too used to doing what it wanted.

With the huge parka I had never had the chance to see just how frail and slender she was. Her shoulders seemed so fragile under the cream colored turtleneck sweater; her waist was so tiny and narrow. She was just so _small_! I felt the maddening urge to hold her close and protect her.

"Raise your arms," I ordered, staring at the long, elegant line of her delicate neck. She obeyed, reluctantly, and I slipped the straps of the shoulder holster first up her left arm, then the right, and buckled it.

"I don't want to have to use it," she murmured. I was bent forward struggling with the buckle and her lips were at my ear. I suppressed a shiver. I didn't answer.

"Edward… please! Don't make me use it."

"I can't promise that," I answered, and bent down to retrieve the parka from the ground where I'd let it fall before. "I won't. If you have to, I want you to use it, Bella. If I can't protect you—" she winced and I grasped her arm to make her listen. She winced again, this time in pain.

"_Use it_."

"Just stay with me."

That was my intention, but if I survived, and chances were slim, if I was being realistic.

Being realistic is a bitch. I bet that's why people like drugs. Drugs are one thing I never did. Well, if I'm in the business of being honest, I _did_ do drugs—once. Apparently I have an oversensitive system, 'cause after one drag of a joint I ended up in a clinic with lung spasms. Lesson learned thankyouverymuch.

Also, Emmett bitch slapped me. Literally. Lesson _learned_, alright.

I settled on, "I'll do what I can," and zipped up her parka. Carlisle gave her the backpack and I turned away, intent on the route we had to follow.

Her next words were quiet but stung like a knife between my shoulder blades.

"What you can is not enough. I want your best, or I'll never forgive you."

God. Fucking. Damnit. What was this, the female version of '_The Mentalist'_? How did she know how to push my buttons so well?

Shit! Fuck! Now I _had_ to live. If only to prove her wrong. Shit!

_Well played_, I thought apathetically.


	7. City Lights

**Chapter 7. ****City Lights.**

**/Edward/**

Eventually, Carlisle convinced me to let us all rest for a minimum of two hours. I conceded, if only because Bella was quite evidently at the end of her rope. I fell asleep a lot faster than I had hoped—thought honestly, after everything I'd been through this past week, it was to be expected.

My perfect G. internal clock snatched me from deep sleep exactly two hours later. Carlisle was crouched nearby against a tree, keeping watch. Bella had turned and was sleeping cuddled against me.

I dropped my head back to the ground and sighed. "What am I going to do with her?"

Carlisle inclined his head silently.

Honestly, I was so fucked up I shouldn't be contemplating a relationship with anyone except a good psychiatrist and a bottle of Prozac.

Esme Cullen, Carlisle's wife, had, like Bella, known what to tell me. We'd been having a beer outside on the porch while Carlisle cooked—Italian chicken was his work of art, Esme wasn't even sure how he cooked it. We'd been laughing about how the neighbor's children, two little girls, had tried to get the good doc to sit with them and play tea. He'd politely declined, saying he had urgent matters to attend to but that he would surely come back at another occasion. The girls had been delighted, and they'd taken his word. That was going to come back and bite him in the ass, but whatever.

Our laughter had died down and a quiet, comfortable silence had fallen over us. I'd heard her sigh softly and turned to face her from where I was perched on the hand rail, arching my brows.

"You didn't kill your parents," she'd said gently, and I'd dropped my beer.

_Yes I did_.

Egypt wasn't even _in_ their flight schedule.

I hadn't answered. That night Carlisle and I had been in the worst fight I'd ever had with him, a screaming match that ended up with me sitting against the wall with a broken lip and him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, shaking.

Bella shifted and sighed against my neck causing me to groan before grasping her shoulder. "Bella, get up," I said firmly, sitting up. "We have to keep moving."

She released a tiny sigh of tiredness that only I heard, and got to her feet.

In the next seven hours we covered a large amount of terrain I could easily be proud of.

At last, at nightfall, we came to a forceful halt, because we reached the end of the forest and the beginning of civilization, so to speak. This is to say, we came upon the remnants of what _used_ to be a populated area.

It was a medium sized city that in its good times had perhaps housed about 70.000 inhabitants. It was cut in half—half of it was smoke and flames and the other half stood erect, if a little worse for wear.

Evidently, hiding in the run down part would be easier. We would only need to find a space that was still standing, and hole up in it. Stay quiet until we heard from the _Forks_. Problem was, _that_ half of the city was a full out war zone. War zones had a few problems of their own—for starters, the risk of being caught up in a shoot-out, having a bomb dropping unexpectedly right where you're sitting, and generally desperate people.

If I had been with Rose and Emmett, or Christensen, my first pick would have been the run down half, no questions asked—but I was with a civilian and a medic. I cringed at the idea of placing them in unnecessary danger, so I chose the other part of the city.

"Bella, do you have this country's money on you?" I asked.

"Um, sure—a few hundred dollar's worth of it," she said. "You need to buy clothes, right?"

"Clothes, food, water, and a safe place to hide," I ticked them all of on my fingers as I spoke.

She nodded. "I can do that. In a place like this, money gets you anything. But we better buy clothes for the two of you in some place far from where we'll be staying, alright?"

Carlisle and I nodded. "You think there's phone service here somewhere?"

"That's more difficult," she said reluctantly. "Be happy if there's light and running water, which is highly unlikely."

"We could always steal the clothes," I said slowly. "It's nightfall. We could sneak into some store in the dead of night and steal them. It's less dangerous than having our faces recognized by the store's clerk."

"It's also illegal," Bella drawled.

I shrugged. "Desperate times and all that jazz."

"I have to agree with him, Bella," Carlisle said, unhappy. "It's too much of a risk to simply walk into a store with our uniforms. We can leave the money in the desk when we leave."

She seemed to think that was fair, and agreed. So, I started the dangerous process of sneaking into a city in the dead of night, trying to avoid cannons, rifles and soldiers on either side. I didn't want to be caught dead taking a side—I was already in enough shit to start implying that the United States had taken a position other than that of Switzerland.

Neutral was fine, I liked neutral.

With my dread of being caught, it took us the better part of two hours to get into the relatively sound side of the city, and make our way to the shopping district. There weren't a lot of people in the streets—a wise choice considering the circumstances. This city looked like Warsaw after World War II. It was heartbreaking. It reeked of misery and pain and loss and fear. Bella was terribly pale under the moonlight. In the night, Carlisle's hair looked bleached white.

I chose a small store in a dark alley and broke the glass of the door. No alarm, thank God. As we quickly divested ourselves of our uniforms, Bella kept watch crouched by the door. I chose to keep my black boots, and chose dark jeans, a dark green shirt and a black sweater with a high neck. Just to be sure, I picked up a few more clothes for myself and a few for Bella. I didn't know how long we'd have to act like stranded foreigners and I wanted to make sure we didn't call too much attention to ourselves. I told her to get rid of her old, huge parka and pick up a thick winter coat instead. She obeyed, albeit with an unhappy air to her, and we threw our old clothes away in a dumpster. I would have loved to burn them, but none of us smoked.

Bella counted the price of everything we were taking and left three one hundred bills on the counter. That amounted, she explained, roughly to a hundred American dollars. Cheap!

Civilians with weapons were common occurrence, so we didn't bother to hide our rifles. Both Carlisle and I had thick wool hats on. My hair was a dead giveaway and blonds weren't exactly common around here. Bella was less conspicuous, more common.

We walked around aimlessly for a few hours, making our way to the residence district. We hid in a dark alley and snatched some sleep until dawn, and then Bella started asking in perfect, flawless native language if there was any place she could rent to stay with her husband and his father. We'd agreed on that alibi since family was less conspicuous than three strangers together. The idea of husband irked me, but the implied situation of being her lover I did like; A little too much, actually. I loved the excuse it gave me to hold her hand, touch her shoulder and her hair.

Finally, at about mid morning, an old lady took pity—or something else, who knows—on Carlisle, and she rented us an apartment in her building for two hundred. Bella readily paid, though she said in English that it was ridiculously expensive. It was an ancient three stories building, and our apartment was on the second floor. The stairs leading to the third had caved in at some point, rendering the building two-storied. All of the apartments were rented.

The place consisted of a huge living room, a decent sized kitchen, a big bathroom, and two bedrooms of the same size. I almost offered to share a room with Bella to keep up the husband pretext, but Carlisle _glared_, and I had to settle for him as a roommate in the master bedroom.

And now, we waited.

"We have to buy food and stuff," Bella said calmly, from where she was lying on the couch of the living room in front of the ancient, piece of museum TV that, of course, didn't work. "One of you should come with me, but I don't think the three of us should go about much."

"Get some sleep," Carlisle said, appearing in the living room with what seemed to be an old blanket that he draped over her. "When you wake up, I'll go with you to buy food, water and medical supplies." He straightened and gave me a look. "You too, Edward. I want you to sleep for _at least_ four hours in a row."

I shrugged.

"Now!" He hissed, and he looked to the world like he was ready to tackle me to the dusty floorboards and knock me out, so I obeyed. He looked thin, but in my state he might have just been able to overpower me, and that would have been just sad.

I laid in bed for a total of six minutes before the world went black on me.

I was snatched from sleep and into awareness by a gentle hand on my shoulder. I sat up, blinking quickly. I realized I was numb with sleep and that I must have slept well over four hours. I looked at my watch—eleven o'clock in the night.

"How long did I sleep?" I asked, frowning.

Bella sat the candle down on the bedside table and smiled. "Twelve hours."

"Shit. What happened?"

"Nothing much," she said. "We went groceries shopping at about seven, and at about nine thirty I convinced Carlisle to get some sleep. He asked me to wake you up and make you eat and drink lots of water, but I thought I'd let you get as much rest as you needed. I got worried when I saw the time. You haven't eaten anything since we separated from the others."

"Oh." Now that she mentioned it, I did feel light headed. "Did you cook?"

She nodded. "We got pretty good supplies. I made chicken and potatoes. I can mash some for you; it'll be good for your stomach after not eating for so long. Better start off light."

I shrugged. "I guess I'll be fine." I pushed the cover off as she got up and left the room. I glanced at Carlisle, deeply asleep on his side. I yanked the jeans over my boxers, slipped on the shirt and thought of going out barefoot, but then remembered the dust and dirt and the splintered floor boards and thought better of it.

I realized as I came out of the bedroom that the apartment smelt delicious. I made my way to the kitchen and let myself fall on a chair at the round table, running a hand through my messy hair. I probably just made it worse; It had a life of its own.

"You sure you won't be sick?" she asked, concerned, as she sat a plate and silverware in front of me. She grabbed a bottle of water and poured me a glass.

I made a mental calculation of the last time I'd had a good meal. That was in the Forks, lunch time of the day we'd been assigned to the mission. That was… over a week ago. I grunted and mashed the potatoes with the fork. She looked smug so I arched an eyebrow. It was way too early for famine disorder, but I better take it slow.

"I don't see _you_ mashing any potatoes," I commented.

"I already ate and was sick, so I settled for tea in the mean time."

"That's why you insisted," I drawled.

"I thought you could benefit from my experience." She smiled wryly.

"You didn't eat anything at all?"

"Like I said, tea and cookies."

"Cookies?" I arched a brow.

She shrugged. "Carlisle insisted sugar is necessary. It's hard to go against him you know. And he looks so gentle too."

"He's a tough guy, below all the blonde-and-blue-eyed charm," I said, pausing. "I have to get him home," I said quietly.

"You'll get us all home," she said confidently, smiling. "Drink water, please. He asked me to make sure."

I obligingly gulped down the glass of water. She readily poured me another one and I swallowed some of the potato-mash I'd made. It felt foreign in my throat, never a good sign, but I forced it down with more water.

Once I managed a few swallows, the food went down easily. I finished the plate, drank several more glasses of water and finally sat back in the chair. She got the dishes in the sink and put a kettle on the stove to make some tea. Oh, so we had gas. Great! And running water, I observed. That was more than originally expected.

I sighed. "I have a headache. I hate sleeping so much."

"It evidently does nothing for your mood," Bella commented, looking at me with her waist against the counter and her arms crossed. "Or your complexion, but then that might be the shot wound—or the bite—or the broken rib… you know…" she trailed of, waiving a hand in front of her body.

I glared at her.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm worried about you. You take stupid risks."

"I don't want to hear some little girl talking to me about taking risks. What the hell are _you_ doing here to begin with?"

"_You_ think _I_ don't belong here?" she asked calmly. "Because _I'm_ wondering what the piano-playing rich kid is doing in the Navy, myself."

I stared at her, struggling to control my temper. It was flaring out of control. I didn't want to snap at her, but she was pushing it.

"Rich kid?" I managed to ground out. I thought I sounded a lot calmer than I felt. Yay me! Usually, by now I would be at the asshole's throat and Emmett would be trying to pull me off. I'd gone to court martial because of that, once.

"I come from a small town," she said. "I know people like you."

"I doubt that."

"No, trust me, I know your type." She said, and slowly sat on the chair across the table from me. Wise. Any closer and I might hurt her. "The way you move, your speech, your thought process. It's obvious you've been very well educated and are very cultured; you've read a lot, you know your manners—though you choose not to use them—and piano is a common choice of instrument for children of high social status."

Ooh, so I was predictable. _Lovely_. A snarled string of curses raced through my mind. All of them would make her cry though, so I refrained. I didn't like crying women.

"You've been studying me?"

"I observe," she said gently. "I'm a photographer, Edward—I see things. I pay attention. I look at you because I'm interested in you. Instead of being angry, as I'm sure you are, you should just ask me why."

"Fine! Why?" well, I was being a jerk. I could hardly think straight, to be honest. She'd been _looking_ at me. And not just looking—looking and _seeing_. She'd understood me much better than I'd given her credit for. It was quite frankly disturbing. Was I _that_ transparent?

She rolled her eyes. "Because I _like_ you, Edward."

My throat and mouth went dry. I had to swallow.

"Wow," she said, arching her brows. "You look like a deer in the headlights. Breathe."

"You don't know me." I said quietly. I was feeling strangely subdued, my muscles were beginning to relax. I had the vague feeling that her admission had calmed me, and that was pretty fucking wrong, but for the moment I just wanted to revel in her words. I'd panic later.

"I know enough."

I shook my head. "I'm a bastard, Bella. You'd really be much better off without me."

"I think I can make that decision on my own, thank you very much," she said dryly. "Besides, you don't really believe that." She waved her hand and focused her penetrating gaze on me. Penetrating. Huh! Interesting thought. I mentally slapped myself and tried to keep listening to her.

"You're conflicted, aren't you? You think you're the best, and at the same time you think you're a monster."

I smiled wryly. "You tell me. You clearly know better than me."

"Just to set the record straight," she said, sitting back and glaring at me. "You've been an asshole to me for the better part of our acquaintance and I still haven't walked away, so you can go ahead and assume that continuing on your current behavior won't push me away any more than it has so far."

"So you like your men to be careless shits?"

"I agree you're a careless shit, but that still doesn't mean you're bad."

"Your mind works in strange ways, Bella."

"That coming from the bi polar jerk who thinks he doesn't have any moral lining whatsoever."

"I don't!" I insisted. I wasn't thinking very straight. Her language was getting dirtier and her tone darker and it was a turn on, which was sick. I shifted on the chair, uncomfortable.

"I call bullshit on that one Edward, because if you really didn't, you wouldn't be conflicted." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest, cocking an eyebrow.

"How do you know I'm conflicted?" I challenged. I scrambled to hold onto my snarky ways to try and stay coherent.

"Edward, someone that values life as much as you do, enough to hate me viciously because of the deaths of your comrades, enough to feel sick with himself for killing a pet, sure as hell has morals. And yet you don't give a second thought before throwing yourself right into peril. I think it's a little contradictory. If life is valuable why isn't your life worth saving? Conflicted, much?"

I stared. She didn't have a filter at all, did she?

I was in love.

The words sang their way into my mind and a warm feeling flooded through my entire being. I was _in love_. I _loved_ her. I sat pondering on that precious feeling as she studied my face. She drew me out of the contemplation with a weary sigh. I looked at her, awed with my discovery—I _loved_ her. I could _love_… I wasn't dead inside. _God_! I could feel love. I kept saying it in my mind, wondered, marveled—and found her so much more beautiful for it. She could make me _feel_. Oh, I wanted to hold her close, gather her in my arms and kiss her tenderly. Thank you, thank you, _thank you_, chanted my heart.

"Edward… I don't know what you've been through; I don't demand that you tell me. I don't favor double standards. If I can't tell you my story I won't ask yours. But I _will_ tell you this, and I do expect you to listen to me; _there is no evil in you_!"

She got up, _so tired _looking, and came closer to me. She bent down slowly to press a gentle, natural kiss to my temple, and I inclined my head instinctively to favor her as my eyes fell closed. Her nimble fingers combed through my hair tenderly once, and she caressed my neck as she passed behind my chair and left me alone in the kitchen, leaving in her wake her scent of freesia and fresh rain water.

There is no evil in you.

So what? It was a façade I'd built? And here I was thinking I didn't lie to myself. What a laugh.

If I wasn't a jerk, then… I knew what lay beneath that surface. Raw, untreated, undiluted pain, laced with guilt and disgust and regret.

Pathetically enough, underneath it all lay what remained of a broken seventeen-year old, because I'd never bothered trying to get through all my issues. I was more of a careless shit than she'd ever know.

What was terrifying was the knowledge that to be with her fully, wholly, I would have to strip off all those layers of lies and look at the small little scared thing underneath them. After ten years of carefully erected walls… I'd have to let myself _feel_ her.

There was a phrase I remembered reading from a Charles Dickens book, 'Great Expectations'. Estella, trapped forever in her shell of disinterest and disdain towards men, locked in her feelings of hate and loathing breaded by her aunt, could never understand how Pip loved her deeply enough to persevere through the years, unwilling or incapable of understanding her inability. She told him that once you taught a little girl to fear the sun, she feared the sun forever, and would always remain in the shade. She told him people can't change.

I was like her… only my cell hadn't been built by a resentful aunt, but rather by myself.

And yet I was not like her, because I knew myself better, and I knew I could change. Where Estella had failed I could succeed, with Bella's support. I could, I _would_, change. It was wrong of me to expect her to wait for as long as Pip had been willing to wait for Estella; and I wouldn't. Besides… I knew I couldn't do it on my own. On my own, I'd lock down again. I would need Bella to help me.

I used to be a charming boy. If that was really still down there somewhere like she believed, if I still was that Edward, I would find my way back. I had to find where I'd gone wrong.

Actually, I knew where I'd gone wrong perfectly well. I tried to recall as hard as I could, but I couldn't remember ever crying for my parents. I'd been so sensible before… that was it. That was where I'd gotten stuck. I didn't feel like crying now, but my throat was constricted and my chest hurt.

After their deaths, I hadn't been able to play the piano. My mind had been blank, I'd sat at the bench for _hours_ staring at the keys and feeling no desire to play. No music had come to my mind, no keys, and no tunes.

The pain began to cloud my mind. I stood, restless. My eyes were dry, but I felt a crushing wave of anguish. I searched for a way to pull through and immediately thought of Bella.

She was probably already asleep, I couldn't go to her… but the pull of her calm demeanor, her gentle hands, called to me. I made my way to her bedroom before I even thought about it, and I opened the door and stood in the doorway, suddenly hesitant.

She was sitting in bed with a book on her lap, enjoying the candle light, and looked at me with big, patient, inquiring eyes. I swallowed and remained in the door, unsure.

She continued to look at me patiently as I wandered into the room, leaving the door open. Closing it somehow seemed very, very wrong. Eventually I made my way to the bed and sat down on the edge. It took a while before I dared lay down by her, but as soon as I felt her presence near me, the pain in my chest lessened greatly. The whole right side of my body felt hot with her body heat, and she hadn't moved an inch from her position. She simply observed me.

I closed my eyes and listened to her breathing, and my body relaxed slowly, muscle by muscle. My chest felt lighter. As always, the air around her was thinner, easier to breathe. Her even, slow breaths lulled me, and before I even took notice, I was asleep.


	8. Crash Site

**Chapter 8. ****Crash Site**

**/****Edward/ **

"How will we communicate with the _Forks_?" Carlisle asked, at last, the following morning. We were sitting at the kitchen table and he was cleaning the bite marks. I was half naked, bandaged and really black and blue all over. I had thought I exaggerated at the rabbit hole, but nope.

I contemplated the communication issues as Bella sat the tea cups in front of us on the table where there was space amongst the many medical supplies.

"We can't use the radios, right?" she asked, sitting down across from me. "Why is that? Are they traceable?"

I noticed she refused to let her eyes wander anywhere below my chin and stomped on the urge to grin and tease.

"Yes." I shook my head. "Radio waves are traceable if you use goniometry. If you have the correct radio wavelength you can obtain markings and triangulate the position of the speaker. It usually takes more than one transmission because you need at least two markings that intercept and give you a point, but if they have two goniometers set up, one will be enough. We can't risk it."

Bella was giving me an odd look and I shrugged. "Technical knowledge. A goniometer is a measuring instrument shaped in a semi circle or a circle graduated in 180 or 360 degrees that is used to measure or construct angles. It was used in old ships before digital navigation, and is sometimes used in airplanes."

She nodded slowly, absorbing the knowledge. Okay, so I had been showing off, I admit it. I know my stuff and I like people to know it. Especially people I am trying to seduce. And yes… as of this morning I was trying to seduce Swan.

"What about cell phones?" she asked.

"Those are traceable as well."

"Public phones?" Carlisle offered.

"We said that the likelihood of those working in the area is minimal," I replied. "Still, if we could get our hands on one that worked, that would be good."

"Yes, but public phone lines can be heard and traced," Carlisle said, sighing. "In the event that you found one in order, they would hear you speak English."

"The phone lines are managed by operators," Bella nodded. "It's a pretty old system."

"If I can get through to the Pentagon, I can have them switch me over to a secure line."

"Yes, they wouldn't hear what you say—but they would still be able to locate you."

"I can make it short. No system can triangulate a call in less than twenty minutes, and that's top of the line equipment. I doubt they have that kind of technological means here. I'll have half an hour at least, and I need way less than that to get directions."

"It's risky."

"But it's a chance."

"There's a way to win time," Bella said carefully, eyeing me. I knew I wasn't going to like this. "If I make the call and speak to the operators in the native language, they'll make the connection to Washington before they realize we mean to talk to the Pentagon. International calls are a common thing; I could be calling some friend or relative that managed to flee. I speak fluidly."

"Bella, that's a long shot," I replied. "They'll be told to alert of _every_ call to the States."

"It's likely, but we won't lose anything."

"Except, you'll have to be there with me, which means we'd be risking your exposure too. Absolutely not!"

"Oh, but it's perfectly fine for you to get killed," she drawled.

"I'm trained, remember?"

"I'll be sure to mark that on your gravestone."

"While you're at it, don't take me roses. I'm allergic."

"You're an asshole."

I shrugged. "Yeah. But as that was also the case prior to our current situation, it doesn't really change anything."

"You're _impossible_!" she said, throwing up her arms. "You know, just when I'm starting to think I like you, you make me hate you _all_ over again!"

"Yes, he does have that effect on people," Carlisle sighed, before straightening. "But before you two start arguing like children, I'll use my leverage as the older party and make a decision. Bella, what you propose is too much of a risk. Edward can do it on his own while you stay here with me. The difference should you be there would be minimal, thus outweighed by the danger."

Bella stared at him in awe. "You actually agree with him? I was sure you'd be with me."

"Well, I agreed he's a bloody asshole," Carlisle said softly.

Bella arched an eyebrow, but didn't argue.

"Why is it that you make _my_ life impossible, but you don't even doubt _him_?" I protested, sullen.

Bella shrugged. "He's just too _nice_," she smirked. "And too bloody British, you know?"

Just for the sake of continuing the discussion, I could have said 'and I'm not nice?' but that would have been too cliché. Instead, I just gave her a look. After all, I had won; I was going alone and she was staying safely behind with Carlisle.

"Well, now you just have to learn to speak the language fluidly enough to understand the directions until you're connected to the operator," she said, looking at her fingers with disdain.

I paused.

"You're a bit of a bitch, huh?" I growled. Carlisle slapped the back of my head, glaring. I stared at him.

"Not a bit," she said, grinning. "A lot!" She stood up and grabbed her coat from the back of the chair, smoothing her hair back.

The good Doc helped me put my T-shirt on and then got me in my sweater and my jacket. Bella was counting coins. As Carlisle started putting away the medical supplies, I stepped behind Bella and slipped my arm around her waist, bringing her close.

"Hello, wife," I teased.

Bella huffed. "I told you he'd be impossible," she tossed at Carlisle.

"I'm too old to play your husband, Bella," he replied.

"Plus, Carlisle can't lie to save his life." I smirked. "You ought to see him. He's made of clear glass, you see _right_ through him."

"Oh, to be sure." Carlisle drawled. "Being honest is my greatest flaw."

"It's a common character defect, my English friend," I teased, still holding onto Bella's waist.

"I shall die and be punished for it, I am certain." He sighed.

Shall, Carlisle? Really? He was probably the first person to use that word in common conversation in a hundred years. Sometimes he acted like he had been cut right out of the XVI century and fast glued to the XXI. Then I remembered he was English.

_Bullocks_.

I snickered like a jerk and he tossed me a dark look, evidently aware that I was mocking him.

"Stop alienating the resident British please," Bella requested in a drawling tone, pushing at my chest to get me to go to the door.

"Don't worry, Carlisle, I'll bring him back in one piece."

I grinned at her as I picked up my rifle and slung it over my shoulder. She grabbed her gun from the table and slipped it in the holster with unexpected ease. This girl knew her weapons. I thought about that as she locked the door behind us.

"You dad taught you to handle guns?" I asked, curious.

"Yeah. I told you, he's a police chief. He firmly believed that since we had guns in the house, I had better learn to use them."

"Your mom agreed with that?" I asked, arching my eyebrows.

"My parents are divorced," she explained. "My mom remarried and lives in Florida, and my dad lives in Washington. I lived with my mom until I was seventeen, and then when she married I moved with my dad. That's when he decided to teach me."

"Why did you move?" It wasn't any of my business, but she seemed willing to speak and I wanted to know. I wanted to _know_ her. "Hated your stepdad?" I assumed.

"No, Phil is cool," she rebuked. "But he moves a lot cause of his work—he plays Baseball—and I was holding them back. My mom deserved her newlywed life. So I moved." She shrugged. "I didn't mind. My dad and I are really alike, we understand each other."

"And your mom?" She was probably best friends with her mom, if she got along so well with her dad. It was evident she had been an untroubled teenager, one of those mature, rational girls. I certainly couldn't picture her as a 'popular' kid or a 'nerd' and much less a 'bully'. She didn't fit any stereotype.

"My mom? We share DNA," she laughed.

I smiled as we started walking down the street. I was alert now, looking around and paying attention. We didn't need to go to a far away public phone if it was only to hear the instructions and write them down. When I called, I would have to be very far so as to not draw attention to the area we were living in. But still, the danger existed and every second we stayed out of the apartment we were exposed. I brought my arm around her waist again to keep her close and safe.

"And yours?" she asked, startling me.

"Pardon?" I asked, confused. I hadn't been paying attention.

"Your parents?" she clarified, looking up at me with her huge chocolate eyes.

"Oh. They're dead," I said brusquely.

Her eyes widened slightly. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged; alarmed that she would pursue the matter. I didn't want to talk about my parents. I didn't want her to feel sorry for me. It was my fault they were dead. She would be disgusted with me once she knew and I didn't want that to happen, just yet. Eventually, when I told her, we would be in a better predicament, where I could explain _everything_.

"How long ago?" she asked gently, her hand covering mine at her waist. She was looking at me evenly, and for some reason she had decided to press the matter. I was beginning to feel a surge of irritation.

"Ten years," I ground out, looking around to distract myself.

"What happened?"

I gritted my teeth. "Plane crash." I hissed. Why the fuck did she _care_?

I spotted a cabin phone in the corner ahead of us across the street. Thank god!

She stopped in her tracks and I lurched to a halt with her, suddenly alarmed. I clutched her close and looked around wildly, backing down to press my back to a building. Had she seen something? Had I missed a sign?

"Edward," she said softly, and drew away from my grasp carefully, grasping my hand. "Do you… do you blame yourself?" she asked, her wide eyes filled with concern and a hint of shock.

I stared at her, my eyes blank. My heart accelerated to the point I started breathing in shallow breaths. The breath was rough and cold in my throat.

"It was a plane crash." She was suddenly desperate, grasping my hand very tightly. "It had nothing to do with you!"

"Shut up!" I barked at her, and pushed her away to straighten up. "There's a phone right there. Get moving!" I grabbed her arm and turned her to the phone.

She snatched the arm from my grasp and I vaguely remembered she didn't like to be manhandled—or be told to shut up. She whirled around to face me and I instinctively flinched back, waiting for the inevitable slap.

Instead, she stood glowering at me, but her eyes were brimmed with tears. It disconcerted me. Why was she crying? Had I hurt her? I felt a horrible wave of remorse that shattered through my anger and panic, because she was more important than those feelings.

"You didn't kill your parents," she said clearly and firmly.

The anger slammed back full force, like a giant tsunami swallowing a little sailboat. The rollercoaster of rough feelings was making me dizzy.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," I growled. "Leave it alone!"

Anger was an instinctual response to what I considered a belligerence. It was easy and quick, and I didn't need to think about it. It was only natural that I would immediately grasp it, automatically tuning into it instead of allowing the barrage of other feelings to pummel into me. A shell, a shield.

"You _didn't kill your parents_."

"Shut. Up!" I snarled.

"You didn't—"

An explosion shook the ground. She fell to her knees and I fell right next to her, grasping her in my arms and throwing us both to the ground. I covered her as best I could with my body as I felt rocks and pieces of buildings falling around us. One of them fell hard on my thigh. It didn't break the bone, but I would have a nasty bruise, and I might carry a slight limp.

There wasn't a second explosion. We weren't being bombed; it was just a random missile landing on the wrong side of the city. I sat up, still keeping Bella down, and looked around us. Chaos governed the street. The bomb had fallen on a nearby building… I leapt to my feet, suddenly desperate. Our building…!? _Carlisle!?_

It stood. I heaved a sigh of relief and my shoulders slumped. I fell to my knees and shook for a little bit before the awareness of the world returned to me. Screams and shouts. I stood again and Bella came to my side.

"We're going back," I told her, grabbing her hand and turning to our building.

"What? No, Edward, wait—we have to help."

I stopped and stared. "Are you insane? No. It's too risky. Too much exposure, too much attention."

"Oh, so what? I have to walk away from someone who might need my help, so I won't be in danger?" she asked, staring at me incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous. I know first aid, I'm going to help. Get Carlisle, we'll need a medic." She shook off my hand, but I reached for her arm again.

"Bella, no!" I insisted firmly. "I can't protect you—"

"Edward, there's no danger here right now," she said, exasperated. "The only danger is a bomb might fall on me and that won't change much, being here or being in the apartment. These people need me. They need Carlisle. They need you, a young, strong man that can help with the ruins. We can _help_ them. And so long as we _can_, we _must_!"

She continued to look at me, calm and determined. I was not going to be able to convince her, so I cursed under my breath and took off towards our building. I was jumping up the stairs, two steps in a stride when I almost collided with Carlisle on his way down with the medical supplies.

He grasped my shoulder and almost stumbled on the steps. "Thank _God_," he breathed. "I was afraid—"

"I'm fine. Bella's fine. But there are people hurt under the building."

He nodded, needing no more explanation as he ran down the stairs. I followed quickly behind. I knew first aid as well, mostly learned on site of missions. It wasn't much, but it was something.

For the next eight hours, we devoted ourselves to digging the wounded out from under the rubble of the building. Police and firemen and ambulances arrived about twenty minutes after the bombing, but we were still dearly needed. Carlisle was an excellent medic, fast and efficient, and Bella stuck by his side to translate his diagnosis and help him communicate with the paramedics.

I was away from them most of the time, though I kept an eye on the both of them. I was needed more in the rubble rescuing the people, helping the firemen. We had the random luck of having an engineer helping us, telling us where we could dig without risking the rest of the building caving on our heads.

It was nightfall by the time I straightened on a pile of rubble, exhausted to the point my muscles quivered. One of the firemen handed me a bottle of water and grabbed my good shoulder in gratitude. I nodded breathlessly, accepting both, and choked down the bottle in three swallows.

I'd been useful. I'd saved lives today. I didn't care to count how many I'd helped dig out. I hadn't rested for a second. I was wrung out, physically and emotionally. There was a line of half a dozen bodies covered in sheets on the street; I knew _that_ number very well. I'd dug out three of those corpses. There were still approximately six people missing, according to the people that the police was keeping away from the ruins. But it was nightfall, there was no electrical light to illuminate the rubble at night, and whatever could be done from now on, I could help no further. My chest and shoulder ached terribly, my thigh was stiff and bruised and shot spears of pain whenever I used that leg.

I was covered in dirt, dust, and sullied with the wisps of smoke I'd been going through all afternoon. The fireman that had given me the bottle gently grabbed my arm and turned me around, asking me to go down the rubble and go home. He seemed concerned, his dark eyes tired and worried. I nodded slowly and made my way carefully down. I was watching my feet so I wouldn't slip and break an ankle because really, that was the last thing I needed.

I was near the ground when my right leg gave way beneath me. My thigh was on fire. So were my lungs, chest, shoulder and throat. Actually I think I should make inventory of that which was _not_ on fire. Okay… my hair.

A strong hand gripped my right arm and helped me up, and someone patted my back. I nodded gratefully and looked to my right.

Emmett smiled, and winked. He patted my arm again, steadying me.

I nodded at him, keeping my face in a perfect mask of polite appreciation, and gestured that he didn't need to worry about me. His baby blue eyes traveled down to slide over Carlisle and Bella. She was sitting on an ambulance drinking water and he was still busy with a patient. He looked like he would never tire, never need to sleep. So competent, so admirable.

Emmett released my arm after one last squeeze, and he turned around, trotted down the street and disappeared.

He was alive. He was safe. If he was alive and safe, so were Rose and Julian. The relief I felt was the last straw and I came undone, sitting down on the pavement, folding my legs and resting my elbows on them. It was a careless position, but I was too tired to give a shit.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, trying to steady it. I jerked up when nimble fingers ran through my hair, and I stared at Bella's tired face.

"C'mon," she said, taking my hand in hers. "Let's get you home."

I stood with no little effort, and we walked slowly over to Carlisle. He rose gracefully from his knees when we came close, and made a quick but thorough evaluation of our states.

"Water, then sleep!" he told me. "There are still supplies in the apartment. I notice your right leg is hurt, take care of it before you go to sleep. Let Bella check your chest and shoulder and the bite. I'm still needed here, but I'll be back before you miss me."

I doubted that, but I nodded, too tired to argue with him about safety. I shouldn't leave him alone, but I was swaying on my feet. Not exactly a very good protector. Carlisle touched my shoulder again, gently.

"I'm very proud of you, Edward," he said softly. "You were a different man today."

"I'm proud of you too," I murmured, and I meant it. He'd been in complete control of the situation, commanding and efficient. He did have a leader in him.

Bella dragged me to the apartment. I could barely move anymore. I was worn down from the bomb site and from before, from her words. I didn't want to revisit that discussion, but I couldn't help but keep hearing her words over and over in my mind.

_You didn't kill your parents_. _You didn't kill your parents_. _You didn't kill your parents_. _You didn't kill your parents_.

I'd heard it all before. From Emmett, from Carlisle, from Esme. But hearing it from Bella… I began to believe it. A spark of hope… a small flicker of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. I believed her. So many people couldn't be wrong, right? If they all believed the same… I didn't want to think about it right now.

I needed her help to take off my jacket, sweater and shirt. Then she asked me to sit down at the kitchen table and unwound the bandages around my chest and shoulder. The shot wound had bled again, soaking through its bandage and down to the chest one. The shirt was soaked in blood on the left side. She cleaned the wound; cleaned my chest and stomach and then bandaged me again. The bite marks were healing nicely, though now my hands and arms were covered in scratches from the rubble. She had me wash my hands and then rubbed antiseptic on all of it.

"Let me see your thigh," she said after finishing, and I shook my head.

"I want to go to sleep. It's fine, it doesn't matter. Just a bruise," I waved her off.

She hesitated, torn between following Carlisle's instructions and letting me go to sleep, since I so clearly needed it. Finally, she nodded.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

I shook my head again, stumbling to my feet. I hesitated when I was faced with the decision of what room to go into. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep in the master bedroom on my own, after the day's events, but I couldn't just as well barge into _her_ bedroom, occupy _her_ bed.

"Go on," she said gently, tugging me towards her room. "I'll join you in a minute."

I couldn't find the breath to argue or tease. I just nodded like a puppet and went to her room, collapsing on her bed on my back. I usually sleep on my side, but with the left shoulder and the right side of my chest wounded, that was impossible. I had half the mind to sit up despite my body's protests and take off my boots. Then I lay back down, staring at the ceiling.

She came in a few minutes later, just as I started to doze off, and sat a glass of water on the nightstand. I stared at the ceiling again as she took off her own boots, shrugged off her sweater and slid out of her jeans. I closed my eyes when she climbed over me to lay down at my side, on her stomach. She wiggled her way under the covers but didn't bother trying to make me do that. My body had shut down and I didn't think I could move anymore.

My throat was constricted and in pain. I didn't know what was wrong until I felt the tickle of a tear roll down my face. Anguish. It was a constant presence in me, but tonight it was overpowering. What was I crying about? The bomb? The wounded? The dead? Their loved ones who were left behind? My parents?

Myself?

She leaned up and kissed my lips gently, then my forehead. Her fingers brushed away one of my tears.

"It's alright," she murmured, her face next to mine on the pillow, her hand on my chest.

"It's over, Edward. I got you."

I didn't answer. If I tried to speak, I would have sobbed. So I just kept still and silent as the tears kept flowing. I wasn't even sure what the fuck I was crying about, or for, because crying never helped anyone, and I hadn't cried in ages.

Ten years. I hadn't cried in _ten_ fucking_ years_. Was that why I was crying now? What was the point? Did it even _have_ a point?

Bella shifted slightly and smoothed her fingers through my hair, soothing me. She made no noise, no comment and no gesture to ease my distress. It was as if she knew how deeply it went. Maybe she knew better than me? It was actually more than likely.

Because she saw me, and I didn't, because I couldn't look at myself.

I closed my eyes and sometime in the night I fell asleep. I hadn't cried myself to sleep since I was a child.


	9. Rearview Mirror

**Chapter 9. ****Rearview Mirror. **

**/Edward/**

I woke up abruptly, sitting up in the bed while trying to figure out what had woken me.

"Sorry," Bella mumbled, sitting up from where she was previously sprawled on the floor next to the bed. "I was trying to get up and I didn't want to wake you up, but I slipped."

Oh, so the noise of her hitting the floorboards had woke me up. Graceful like a ballerina, that's my Bella for you.

Hmmm… maybe I should think about why the asshole part of my brain wakes up before the rest.

"You alright?" I asked, sitting up and helping her stand.

"Uh, I think I bruised my ego." She rubbed her right arm; apparently she'd landed on it. She stood in front of me, almost between my legs, in a small shirt and her panties. I couldn't stop myself from looking at the smooth expanse of her milky legs. They were so _long_ and _trim_.

"I have a scar on the back of my knee, if you're interested," she said acidly.

I snapped back to her face. "Sorry. I'm a reasonably healthy young male. It happens."

"I think 'healthy' is debatable right now. I still didn't get a look at your thigh last night and you didn't drink any water either. Carlisle is going to skin me alive."

I shrugged. "Like I said last night, it's just a bruise on my thigh. I'm fine."

I flexed it to make my point, and grimaced. _Ow_! Alright, it hurt. The muscle was stiff and incredibly sore. Bella sighed, leaned down to grab her jeans and pulled them on quickly before crouching down in front of me.

"C'mon, pull 'em off." She tugged on my jean leg to make sure I understood what she meant. And I did. All too well. She wanted me to take off my pants while she was crouched in front of me in a bedroom? Did being a virgin make her ignorant? No woman with an _active_ sex life does something this suggestive, especially knowing what it can do to a man. I cleared my throat.

"Let's go to the kitchen," my voice deeper than I would have liked. Luckily, I wasn't sporting any kind of physical evidence as of _yet_, a miracle I attributed to my being exhausted and in pain in most of my limbs, because it certainly wasn't born out of my lack of interest or enthusiasm. If she asked me twice…

She stood up, nodding, and offered me her hand. I batted it off and stood on my own, barely _not _staggering and she sighed in exasperation. I could tell she found it annoying that I didn't let anyone help me, but I couldn't accept it. I didn't want to be a nuisance to anyone, and so long as I could do stuff on my own, I wouldn't request or accept any aid.

I limped to the kitchen and shimmied out of my jeans, slinging them over the back of the chair before I sat down. I looked around while she danced about the kitchen preparing coffee and putting bread in the toaster for breakfast. I checked the wall-clock: 5 am. We'd slept over thirteen hours. I was sleeping a year's worth of rest lately. Physical and emotional exhaustion coupled with stress and poor nutrition did wonders for a guy's insomnia, I guess. I hadn't slept over six hours in a row without the help of sleeping pills since… hell, since I could remember.

I glanced at the master bedroom door.

"Bella, would you check if Carlisle's in there?" I asked as I looked at my thigh.

The long muscles sported the evidence of heavy bleeding under the skin. The bruise went from the base of my thigh to the knee, and began in the middle of the curved muscle at the top and went all the way to the one at the back. In the center of it where the rock had hit me there were scratches and a small cut caked with dried blood. It hadn't bled much, and I checked the jeans. It was stained on the inside, but didn't show much on the outside, just a small, faintly darker splotch.

I unscrewed the bottle of antiseptic as Bella carefully opened the half closed door of the master bedroom and peeked inside.

"He's sleeping, but I think he just threw himself on the bed; he's still fully dressed. Did you hear him come in last night?"

I shook my head, grimacing as I swabbed the cotton liberally over the cut.

"Should I wake him up, make him eat something? Or at least get him out of his clothes?"

I paused to consider that. "I think we better let him rest. Could you take him some water and cookies, so he can eat something as soon as he wakes up?"

She nodded enthusiastically and did it immediately, making sure to cover both the top of the glass and the cookies with napkins so they wouldn't get dust or bugs in them. Then she came back and crouched in front of me, looking at my thigh.

"Should I gauze that?" she asked, touching the cut very lightly.

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about her close proximity to my naked thigh. "You can put a band-aid on the cut, but there's no point bandaging a bruise. It'll fade eventually."

"Did you take the painkillers Carlisle gave you for the rib and the shoulder?"

"No, they're over there," I told her, signaling to the counter near the fridge. She brought me the tablet and a glass of water and I gulped it down, suddenly feeling very thirsty. Without a word, she left the big water bottle on the table and I poured myself two more glasses before I was satisfied.

It was strangely comfortable being like this. Like it was natural for us to be together, having breakfast … after sleeping together … with me almost naked.

I just couldn't seem to turn the 'jerk' part of me off, huh? It was working overtime now-a-days. Or maybe I was just more aware of it now than I had been before. I didn't really think I'd changed _that_ much in the last few days, except maybe I was more on edge due to the stress of the situation.

My leg hurt too much to pull my pants back on, but I was in perfectly decent black boxers and Bella wasn't complaining. I'd never had any issues with nakedness, though I suppose my vanity had a lot to do with that. When you know you look good naked, you don't feel the urge to cover up. I'm certainly not _shy_.

Her not being uncomfortable with my state of undress made me want to ask her if she'd ever seen a man naked before, but I refrained. This 'trying to be a better version of myself' matter included being educated and polite, I guess.

"You take your coffee black, right?"she asked quietly and I nodded. She sat the mug in front of me on the table and sat across from me, crossing her legs Indian style on the chair. She sipped her coffee in silence for a few minutes as I spread some butter on a piece of toast.

"Edward," she said finally, gently. "Talk to me."

"I am talking to you," I answered, feeling a little confused.

She shook her head. "You're talking _at_ me."

I wasn't following her. It occurred to me that I was being purposefully dense, and then it dawned on me what she meant.

I shook my head, stiff. "No, Bella. You don't know what you're asking of me." I begged her not to push it. I really didn't want to talk about my parents. I could scarcely _think_ of them as it was.

She sighed. "Did you know that when you accidentally cut a fingertip while cooking, you shouldn't put a band-aid on it?"

Alright, she'd lost me. I must have looked lost because she took pity on me. She smiled and reached for my hand on top of the table. I pulled them back and hid them under the table-top, lacing my fingers and clearing my throat.

She looked hurt by my reluctance to touch her, and I didn't blame her. It hurt me too. But the way I craved her touch, almost greedily, unsettled me. She blinked and regrouped quickly, though.

"So, the band-aid thing?" I inquired politely. Because really, being polite is just another way of being a jerk if you use it to deflect attention. And just like that, I'm a _polite_ asshole. Ain't I a box of chocolates?

"I mean that sometimes, some wounds are better left without a bandage. Better to let them scab and heal open to the air, if you know what I mean?"

I did, but I couldn't do it. _Too late, too late_, chanted some small, mean part of me—alright, that's a lie, a _big_ mean part of me, a predominant part actually. Still, I didn't want to believe it. That wound wasn't even scabbed. I just kept on steadily bleeding. Someday it was going to leave me dry, unless I came up with a way to stitch it up.

The way was sitting right in front of me across the table, but I couldn't bring myself to reach out, not just yet. I was going to let her help me, I had already decided that, and once I make a decision I never back out of it. But… just not yet…

So, retreat and deflect. It's what I do best after all, right? Right.

"So, tell me about Alice. How did you two meet?" Yes, I'm as subtle as a flying brick.

She tossed me a look that said very clearly she knew what I was doing. Well, now _that_ was interesting. If she knew, maybe she'd care to tell me, because I had no fucking clue, I swear. What the fuck was wrong with me? She was _right there_, willing, and I was holding back on account of _what_ exactly? Pride? Pfft. Like I had any left, after crying like a baby in her bed last night.

Ah, and we just reached a new level of self disgust. I guess I ought to at least be overjoyed that I evolve.

Yay. You _go_, boy!

What was I embarrassed about anyway? She hadn't brought it up, she obviously didn't think any less of me for it, and it had been such an incredible, unexpected relief. I didn't regret it. I readily admit I'm arrogant, but I never thought of myself as sexist, so the whole 'machos don't cry' shit shouldn't apply, right? And yet…

Might I perhaps be over-thinking things just a tad bit? Christ. Where did I lose my backbone? I want it back!

She sighed. "I met Alice in College. We were both attending Yale, and we just… clicked. Kind of like how she clicked with Jasper." She seemed deep in thought for a moment, and then her eyes flicked to mine. "She's had it rough, you know? Suffice it to say she'd seen the darker side of humanity long before we ever came here."

I nodded slowly, taking that in. Energetic, optimistic little Alice didn't seem to show any signs of ever having lived anywhere but in a pink bubble, but then who was I to judge? I wasn't exactly _good_ at coping, myself.

"Why did you even come here, Bella?"

She smiled wryly. "I can't tell you," she murmured.

"Fuck that," I said, my tone low. "You can't tell me anything about yourself? What a hypocrite. You expect _me_ to gush about my parents, yet _you_ hold out on me?"

"I'm the hypocrite? You're a piece of work, Edward. At least I'm not emotionally unavailable because of something that happened over _ten years ago_," she said, her tone as low and mine and her eyes half lidded.

I stared at her, blood running cold in my veins. In the shock of her words, I vaguely registered that I wasn't boiling in spontaneous fury. That had to be good, right? That I hadn't leapt at her jugular?

…yet?

"Watch it," I breathed, still amazed at my calm.

"Edward, tragedies happen. I'm not saying you shouldn't feel pain—"

"What the fuck do you know about pain?" I hissed, and abruptly realized I _was_ furious. Only this kind of anger was a new anger, cold and calculating and perfectly in control. It wasn't the mentally diminishing anger that I was used to, the one that clouded my mind and blocked my rationality. It wasn't flaming, white-hot anger born out of panic to feel anything else. More importantly, this wasn't the anger of a seventeen year old boy.

She looked away and then back at me. "Nothing of the kind of pain you mean," he said clearly. "I haven't lost someone like you have. But then I'm not pretending I did, am I?" She sighed.

"Look, I'm not trying to… _diminish_ your pain. I'm not! I can't know how you feel, so I won't assume I do. But, enough time has passed and… you're not seventeen anymore." She rubbed her temple tiredly.

"Hiding and blocking just won't cut it anymore, you know? You need to find another way to make peace with your loss. Stop… dancing around the stain in the carpet, you know what I mean?"

I shook my head and sighed, the anger ebbing away because she was just so… fucking _reasonable_. How could I lash out at something as perfectly rational and evident? I couldn't. Besides, who the fuck needed to find _another_ way to make peace with their loss? I needed to find some way for the first time ever. I didn't have one to replace, let's be frank here.

I ran my hands through my hair once, and then rested them on the table and let my head fall on them, tired. "You're gonna be the death of me, Swan," I murmured to the table.

I heard her get up, heard her walk and felt her bring the chair right to my side. She put an arm around my shoulders and rested her forehead against the right one, sighing as well.

"Tell me about your friends," she murmured, her hand toying with my hair.

I loved how she ran her nimble fingers through the strands so naturally, like they had a right to be there, as if they _belonged_ there. And I felt like they did, because I felt like she belonged here by my side, pressed against me. I didn't want her to ever leave me.

"Emmett is my cousin," I said quietly, moving to rest my chin on my arms instead of my forehead.

"I've known him all my life, obviously. He used to live with me and my parents, since my uncle and aunt used to move around a lot. He's four years older than me. He's one of the best marines out there, you know? You want that guy with you in an assault. When I turned nineteen, after two years of… doing nothing really…" I wasn't about to tell her what I'd been doing in those two years. It was better she thought I'd just lazed around in bed like any reasonable douche bag.

"He insisted I joined the navy and do something with my life." I didn't tell her it was right after I wound up in a hospital because I'd taken a drag out of a joint and went into anaphylactic shock, either, but then I didn't think she needed to know I'd tried to get into drugs (and failed, which was more pathetic, if even possible).

Emmett had showed up at the hospital, a snarling mass of huge, very, _very_ pissed marine, slapped me so hard not only my cheek but my _neck_ hurt, and told me that, had he been alive, my dad would think me disgusting. He'd said I owed it to my parents to make _something_ out of my life. At that point, I was so apathetic about everything I just did what he told me.

"He and Rose are in love, aren't they?"

"Oh, Rose." I smiled. "Rose is an uptown girl." I laughed quietly. "All rich and elite. Upper East Side Manhattan, you know? Fancy school, student president. Spent a year studying law at Harvard, top of her class. Then she got bored, threw it all to hell and came to the Navy. Said she was tired of being 'Barbie perfect' and that she wanted to have a "real life." She and Emmett met in boot-camp. They've been having a relationship on and off since, not quite stable but not exactly hook-up either. They love each other; they just haven't voiced it yet."

"She looks all tough and snarky!"

"She can bite your head clean off, but she's a great person." I said fondly. "She's a 'no bullshit' kind of female." That was an understatement if I ever heard one. Rosalie Hale pissed off could give the fucking _Kraken_ a run for his money.

"I can tell." She smiled. "Emmett's really sweet too."

"He's a teddy bear, and I'm glad they have one another."

"What about Jasper?"

I thought about that for a minute. "Poor boy from Houston, Texas. His only choice was the military. His family couldn't afford college… they barely got him through high school. The Navy is not his passion, but he gets what he can. He's that kind of man. Life flows, for him, and he accepts what it offers. Takes the good side of stuff. You know what they say, when life turns its back on you, you grab its ass."

She laughed. "He's really sweet and quiet."

"He's _shy_. He's just good to the core. Doesn't lie, doesn't hide." I thought, for a minute, about Jasper's passion: music. Music was my passion once, too. I used to live for the piano. Maybe… maybe when this was all over and I settled on a civilian life, I could invest in a record company, get him a contract. Make him happy.

"I'm glad he found Alice," she said tenderly.

I nodded, agreeing. Alice deserved someone like Jasper. They deserved each other. They were both good and they had both had difficult lives. They would be excellent to each other.

"Carlisle?" she inquired.

I blinked several times. "Carlisle… He's just _good_. There's no cruelty in him, no… evil. He sees the best in everyone and sometimes I wish he would be less naïve, but at the same time… I like that he is. He's from the outskirts of London; his father was a preacher there. He and Esme married young, after being sweethearts all their lives. She's nobility. She followed Interiors Design. He entered med school, and joined the British Army later as a professional. He ended up in the US as one of those wacky exchange programs between Armies. He's been here for about twelve years. I've only known him for seven, though."

"Does he have kids?"

I shook my head. "She's… not fertile. And he has recessive genes for heart failure. A child would be risky for her, and it would most likely be a sick infant."

She remained silent, absorbing the sadness of that statement. Carlisle and Esme were filled with love. Their inability to bear children of their own was a sick joke from the Universe, an unnecessary cruelty they didn't deserve.

"They haven't thought of adoption?" she asked carefully.

I shook my head. "I haven't asked."

There was another long stretch of silence, and I glanced at the clock. 8 am.

"I'm going to check in on him," I said, and stood to pull on my jeans.

Carlisle hadn't moved from his position sprawled on his stomach on the bed. It took effort to rouse him and he was groggy and confused. I wondered what time he'd come back last night and asked him. He said the last thing he'd heard before he fell asleep was a noise in our room—Bella's room, sorry—and our voices.

So he'd been going to sleep just as we got up? Damn. He'd only slept three hours. I convinced him to take off his clothes and crawl under the covers. He drank the glass of water and I went to get him another one, but by the time I came back he was asleep again, on his side. I sat it on the nightstand and left him alone.

When I came out of the room, Bella was in the living room, crouching down in front of the book case and reading the books' backs attentively. I wandered idly to her side, feeling the pull of her presence again. I needed to be close to her. I looked at the books, but it was all gibberish to me. I didn't understand the language. I could very well be reading 'If you read this you suck dick' and not know.

That would be funny, actually. That prank was always priceless.

She gasped and pulled out an old book, her eyes wide as saucers.

I plucked the book from her careful hands and inspected it. It was leather bound, with bible thin pages painted with gold on the edges. The publishing company was called Luis de Palta. I opened it cautiously, because it was delicate and precious, and scanned the random page I'd landed on. This book had its age, probably about sixty or seventy years. It was a fist edition.

"It's in Spanish," I murmured, reading. "Las Obras Completas de Ayn Rand. La Rebelión de Atlas, El Manantial, Los que Vivimos…"

"I don't speak Spanish," she said coolly. "I just recognized the name, Ayn Rand."

"You speak this weird tongue and you don't speak Spanish?" I asked, incredulous, looking down at her with arched eye brows.

She looked up and arched only one. "I speak this 'weird tongue' because I've spent six months running for my life here. That doesn't happen to you in Spain."

"It does if you're from Euskadi," I replied sarcastically. "And in any case, it happens to you in Latin America."

"Did it happen to you? Where?" she asked curiously.

I glanced back at her from the book, frowning slightly. "No, I haven't been to Latin America as a military man."

"Then why do you say it's dangerous?"

The silence stretched, natural and comfortable, as I thought about that.

"I suppose I say it because everyone else says it," I murmured, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Why say something you don't believe?" she asked, genuinely curious. She was trying to understand my thought process again, and quite frankly… so was I.

"It's easier," I said slowly. "It's a prefabricated opinion. I just took it and used it instead of thinking about it myself."

"But you have pretty strong opinions of your own. Why use someone else's?"

"Force of habit." I shrugged.

It was easier to just lay back and let them tell you how to think instead of doing it yourself. Society gave you guidelines you followed, prejudices you believed and kept, transmitted even. If you thought differently you sat apart from society and that meant swimming against the current. I'd been so tired and numb, so sick of it all, for so long, that giving the appropriate expected comment was an automatic response.

But she wouldn't understand that because _she_ never took the easy road. She climbed over mountains and jumped off cliffs and scrambled over rocks so long as it meant keeping her way, sticking to her beliefs.

She was waiting for an answer though, so I shrugged again. "It's easier," I said poorly.

"And easier is… better?" she wondered, trying to comprehend. She was so alien sometimes. I swear that brain of hers was just wired in funny, funny ways.

"For some people," I said, nodding.

"And you're one of them," she stated, and stood. She took the book from my hands again and looked me in the eyes. "Have you read Ayn Rand '_Atlas Shrugged'_?"

I nodded. "Yes, and '_The Fountainhead_'. And I know where you're going. I read this and still go on the easy road? I know." I shrugged.

"I'm as bad as the worst of them. I don't justify my wicked ways." I smiled wryly, but she didn't return it. "You won't understand why I took the easy road even if I explained it, but…"

Ayn Rand was the torch bearer of the individualism. She preached the ability to think on your own, draw your own conclusions and sketch your own beliefs. I'd read somewhere once that the highest level of morality reachable was that in which a person has its own beliefs and defends his principles regardless of society's beliefs and linings. You will do what you think is right regardless of the general opinion. I'd dreamt of being like that once; just like my dad was.

"Oh, I understand," she said gently, snatching me from my thoughts.

"You thought that if you just floated above the water and let it rock you, the pain from your parents' deaths would dull down. You allowed your mind to shut down, you simply went along."

Okay, she understood. Better than me, actually.

"Bella," I pleaded. "Please, don't."

She studied me with her wide dark eyes, and finally nodded slowly. "Are you scared?" she asked suddenly, and I stared at her. "That you'll say something that will repulse me, and I'll walk away?"

I stood very still.

"You won't," she said softly, and turned to look at the books again. "I won't walk away unless you ask me to leave you."

I couldn't answer that, so I didn't. I just walked slowly to the couch, sat down and opened the book I had in my hands. Ayn Rand was one of my favorite authors, artfully fluid in her words and firm in her beliefs. I hadn't read in Spanish in a while—it'd been years since I sat and read a book, in fact.

I hadn't realized how much of my passions I'd put on hold since I'd left the conservatory, and the full weight of them slammed into me as I saw her browse the books in evident delight, gasping and laughing gently as she discovered the titles. Whoever had lived here before us had been well educated and had had good literary tastes, apparently.

She finally picked a book, flipped carefully through the pages and turned to me with a wry smile. I didn't realize I'd been watching her so carefully, enchanted by her reactions and her joy, until she turned and blushed under my unrelenting gaze.

That _blush_.

I looked at the book, arching a brow.

"'_Pride and Prejudice_'," she announced. "You gotta love them classics."

I agreed with a slow nod of my head. "It's one of my favorites. I guess I can relate to Darcy… I'm a proud man."

She smiled, and smoothly made her way to the couch and leaned over me. "He wasn't proud, he was shy. Just like his sister Georgiana."

I grinned. "You've read it?"

"I must have read it a thousand times. Whenever I have nothing to read, I return to it. My safe house."

She gestured to sit by my side, but I grasped her wrist and made her sit between my legs, her back to my front. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pressed her back to my front, resting my chin on her shoulder.

"Read to me," I murmured. "I know it by heart, myself. I remember every word. Like this, you can teach me the language."

She nodded, understanding. She opened to the first page and began reading. She read the first paragraph separately and allowed me to match the words in English, out loud.

At some point as we advanced through the pages, the foreign words began to form understandable connections, and I began to be able to read it on my own, albeit not fluidly. She was patient and gentle and she helped me willingly. Whenever I got stuck she turned her head and pressed a kiss to my temple, soothing my frustration.

I was in love.

And I wanted to tell her, but it was too soon, and I didn't think she was in love with me. Care about me? Sure. But in love? Too soon.

I'd been dead inside for so long, so numb for ten years, that I was feeling emotions like a whirlwind. There was no way she could feel as deeply as I felt, as strongly as I did. She was used to her emotions and feelings in ways I wasn't used to mine. Her (hypothetical, let's not get ahead of ourselves) crush on me was just another crush on another good looking guy. Something common.

I guess that's what you get when you're not a repressed bastard and emotionally available. She was right about that. She was right about everything.

Ten years… ten years was enough. I was going to have to face this eventually and the moment might not be _now_, but it was _soon_.

As for now… I just kept reading over her shoulder.


	10. Need More Hellos

**Chapter 10. ****I Need More Hellos. **

**/Edward/ **

I was reading '_Pride and Prejudice_' quietly, lying on the couch, and Carlisle was sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea—which I suppose makes sense, it being the national British sport of preference.

I hate tea.

But in any case, the calm and quiet seemingly became too much for the Universe. Apparently we weren't allowed to catch a breath; lest the world get sucked into some kind of black vortex and we all die in swirling masses of anti-matter.

I picture it distorted, '_The Scream_' style.

I think my overactive (if annoyingly sarcastic) imagination was on full blast now that I had allowed it to return. It certainly _was_ running wild.

Following the reasoning that the Universe _and_ That Which Lies Beyond hate me, I could deduce that soon, I was going to get shot again. I could just tell. That's my luck, you know? And throw Bella in the mix; with _her_ luck… you got yourself a shot.

Anyway, Bella came out of the bathroom with her hair tangled and wet and a look of blank shock on her face that had me leaping from the couch to my rifle. The book landed with a dull thud on the ground like a person landing on its face. I startled Carlisle so badly he dropped his tea cup on the floor and shot out of his chair.

Poor fellow, he was going to mourn his tea for days.

"What is it?" I demanded anxiously, grabbing her wrist and bringing her close.

"I just thought of something awful," she murmured. "Edward—when you talked to the Admiral before. He said someone was playing dress up. Whenever you communicate you need to give your code, right? And no one knows your code?"

"I have a lot of codes to my name," I said, letting go of her and straightening, somewhat annoyed.

"In fact, I have twelve different ones. Six of those are top secret and the other six have varying degrees of secrecy. Why?"

"Oh God. Okay—I need to tell you something." She walked quickly to the kitchen, wringing the brush in her hands uneasily. "Just listen, and don't ask questions. Look, when we first heard that, I just thought the enemy had one of your radios. I didn't know about the code thing, but I thought 'maybe they were lucky'. But then you explained to me about your radios and the wavelengths and the codes—and I just wonder—what if they don't just have one of the _radios_? What if they have one of the _soldiers_?"

Carlisle and I shared a wide-eyed look.

"A prisoner?" Carlisle asked dry throated.

"A traitor!" I replied quietly. I ran my hands through my hair. I had already deduced we had one because of the Admiral's words, and I had kept silent from Bella and Carlisle so as to not scare them; but now that it was out, I sighed. "There are 37 names to consider. Who lived? Who died?"

"It gets worse," she continued, anguished. "No one knows your code except you and some people with special access, right? Well, someone got your code—which means someone _gave_ your code. Say someone had someone inside and asked for the codes for Edward Masen's missions…"

"That would have to be a Pentagon insider," I said, paling as the gravity of what she was suggesting hit me.

She nodded. "I know for a fact that the Pentagon isn't safe. And you have to call there to ask for _help_?" she finished, her eyes wide.

"It gets worse," Carlisle said, quietly. "If we have a traitor… he _knows_ us. Knows how we _look_. He knows how to navigate the charts, he knows the encrypted codes and the alternative ways of communication, and more importantly he knows how we think and move. He can _predict_ us."

I sat down at the kitchen table, feeling dizzy. "Fuck. _Fuck_. Shit. Now what? I have to tell Emmett. Shit! How do I tell them and not tell the enemy… _Fuck_."

I could use the radio just once, a very short transmission, seconds only. Not enough for the goniometer to locate me. Still, I would never do it from the apartment, and then after, I would drop the radio. But they would _hear_.

"We call Eagle Eye directly," Carlisle said, a look of determination in his blue eyes.

"Yeah, like I have his home number," I responded dryly.

"I have his personal cell phone number."

I stared at him.

He shrugged. "His father was from White Chapel. But I'll have to make the call myself."

"Oh, no. Out of the question." I sat up, glaring. "You're not going to expose yourself—"

"Edward, you can't protect me all the time," he said kindly. "I'm the only one that can do this. I _have_ to. It's our only chance."

I wanted to argue. _God_, did I want to _argue_! But he was right. The helplessness that came with that realization made me seethe, and I stood abruptly, cursing loudly. I forced my hands through my hair.

Carlisle watched me calmly. "I'm no boy, Edward," he said at last. "I'm older than you, and I've been well trained. Your wish to protect me touches me, but you're taking it too far."

I swallowed and nodded.

"Bella, I need you to teach me the instructions," he said, picking up his winter coat and shrugging it on. Bella quickly pulled hers on and I sat heavily on the couch, livid with frustration but silent.

"I'll bring her back and then go away and make the call immediately," I nodded again, staring at the window.

I heard them leave. Half an hour later, Bella came in and sat next to me.

Hours passed.

I read for a while, I paced, I took a shower, I lay on Bella's bed staring at the ceiling, I paced some more. I tried to read again but got stuck and dropped the book in frustration. Bella watched me the whole time, concerned but calm. I began to panic. If _anything_ happened to him, if he was hurt, if he was captured, I'd _never_ forgive myself.

I almost jumped when the door opened right after nightfall.

He smiled wryly, shrugging off his coat. He let himself fall in a chair as Bella hurried to make him tea and start dinner.

"I got through to him. He was already suspicious of a rat. He's going to keep his moves in his inner circle, his closest officers; the ones he can trust. It's going to be a tricky mission. But it's the only hope we have at succeeding."

I nodded.

I worried for a moment about communication with Emmett and the rest. We had to let them know of the change of plans. They knew, like me, to communicate directly with the Pentagon if they were behind enemy lines and disconnected from the direct Command. But if the Pentagon was infiltrated, and Bella was sure it was… had maybe some of them figured out we had a spy? Yes, surely. If I had, the rest had as well. They had heard Eagle Eye's words.

What if the traitor was in our little group? So close to home?

No. I'd kept a close watch on all of them and Emmett had been even sharper. No one had had any chance to communicate with the enemy. I knew that as well as I knew my name was Edward Masen.

"He will send helicopters. You will call him and he will give you instructions to be followed immediately. He says you ought to call him tomorrow, from a different phone from then the one I used—I got a city map and I marked where it was," he said, and took the map from his pocket and dropped it on the table.

I looked at Bella. "You said we have rats in the Pentagon. What do you think the chances are of our Admiral being a traitor?" I asked honestly.

She looked at me steadily. "Slim to none. All the names I know are linked to the Pentagon and the Government. They didn't need people on small command posts like ships. They wouldn't bother."

I certainly wouldn't refer to the command of an aircraft carrier as a small post, but whatever. I guess having people in the Pentagon and the Government put things in a different perspective. I decided not to think of the meaning behind Bella's words because it would drive me insane and I needed a level head.

"One more thing," Carlisle said, now hesitating. "When I was talking to him, someone walking by overheard me speaking English, recognized me as British and spoke to me. He turned out to be the English Ambassador and is on his way out of the country. I have English citizenship, so he wants to get me out with him."

"Carlisle—that's perfect!" I said, leaping at the opportunity. "You have to take his offer, go home!"

"Edward, I can't get us all out—"

"It's alright, just go on yourself. Go home, be safe! Start packing right now, I'll help you—"

"Edward, wait, stop. Listen!" he stood, commanding my attention. "I'm not going to leave you two here on your own. It's out of the question."

I stared at him. Was he… _serious_…? He was staying? _Staying?!_

I was going to _shoot_ him. He'd lost his mind. I was going to knock him out, and drag him all the way down to the Embassy. And if he came about, I would knock him out _again_. If I got court-martialed for it I would argue that he had suffered temporary insanity.

"I'm not leaving alone!" he said again, firmly.

My right hand fisted. I was faster than him, younger. A well placed punch in the jaw and he'd be out like a light. A strong hit to the sternum and he'd crumble to the floor like a doll.

"Oh, yes you are."

Her voice was surprisingly calm, and we both stared at her.

"You're leaving. You're leaving _alone_, and you're taking this with you," she said, and thrust her hand in her jean pocket and took out two small plastic things.

The memory cards. From her cameras.

Carlisle paled. He shook his head, but she walked to him, grasped his hand and pressed the cards into his palm.

"You're doing this, Carlisle. You _have_ to do this, for me. _Please_!"

"Bella, I—"

"Please, Carlisle," she pleaded, squeezing his hand.

He hesitated, but I saw the exact moment his will caved. His brows dropped, he closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged. He finally nodded.

"What time is he leaving?" I asked, hiding my triumphant expression.

"Midnight tonight. He said he would wait until midnight sharp, in case I changed my mind," he said defeated, sitting down at the kitchen table and rubbing his forehead tiredly.

"We still got a good four hours," I said, sitting in front of him. "I'm going to tell you what I need you to do once you get home."

He nodded and listened intently. Once safely in London, the Royal Army would want to debrief him. Bella assured us the British army was safe, at least in this particular situation, and that could be used to our advantage.

"England is very interested in ending this civil war," Bella said as we ate dinner. "They're going to be looking very keenly at those photos and at what Alice and I know. If you can get them to shelter us, we'll be a lot safer in England than in the US. You can show them the photos, you have my express permission."

As if the English would give a flying fuck about her 'permission' if they wanted to see the photos. Then again having that might save Carlisle's life, in a way that he wouldn't make a comic relief out of himself trying to defend Bella's precious, secret photos.

"I'll get it," he said, confident. "If not on my own, with Esme's family's influences, I will manage it."

I wanted to protest against his personal involvement, but there was no point. He was resourceful and I would need those resources.

He would first warn the British Army of the interest of Bella's and Alice's knowledge. He would then ease the knowledge that the Pentagon was infiltrated and that we could only trust the high command of the _Forks_ aircraft carrier. Subsequently, he would contact the Forks and inform them of his safety and our situation. Then he would find out the best way to get us all to safety.

Bella was certain that while the enemy would monitor the US communications, the English army would be left to its own devices. A cooperation between the British Army and Eagle Eye would be the ideal scenario, but I wasn't getting my hopes up on that one.

Carlisle would still be careful, though, because the traitor most likely knew he was a British citizen and that there was a chance of him contacting the Queen's Army.

Carlisle Cullen was, of course, no fool. He might not be a politician, but he _was_ English, and every Englishman knows his careful way around what he says and what he means.

Something about meaning what you say without actually saying what you mean was something my straight forward, bull heading mind just didn't grasp.

And as I knew he would be safe soon, I felt a little more relaxed. I could take care of Bella and myself better than I could take care of Bella, myself _and_ Carlisle.

So we had dinner, discussed plans, plotted, and when ten o'clock came, Carlisle had a small bag packed, had hidden the memory cards somewhere only he knew, and was ready to go. Bella and he hugged tightly, and he pressed a fatherly kiss to her forehead.

He picked up his bag from the floor, and looked at me evenly. I wasn't running away this time, though. Bella went into her room to give us a moment of our own.

We stood in front of each other silently for a solid minute. We were even in height, but I didn't want to meet his gaze, so I looked at the hallway beyond the open door.

"Edward," he said gently. I met his eyes reluctantly. His deep blue orbs were shining with concern and affection.

"Say hi to Esme from me," I said lightly. "Tell her I miss her pies." I smiled, but he didn't return it.

"She's good for you, Edward," he said quietly. I knew he didn't mean Esme, and I didn't make a stupid joke because he was dead serious and this could be the last time I ever saw him, and I didn't want to hurt him. "You deserve to be happy."

I shifted, my throat aching. "You're not my father, Carlisle. You have no obligation towards me."

"I do," he said, and smoothed down my hair in a very rare show of affection. He never touched me beyond a slap in the back of the head or a playful shove. It made this small, delicate gesture all the more charged with all the things I wasn't letting him tell me, and I knew I had better usher him out the door soon.

"I know I'm not your father." He sighed, and I thought I heard a painful edge to his voice that I deeply regretted putting there. "But in some ways, you are my son," he said, and squeezed my shoulder. "I'll see you at home."

I nodded, giving him a crooked grin. "I'll be there for your birthday." Common joke. I always promised and never went.

He gave me a warning look with a tilt of his head. "You still owe Emmett money."

"Go, because if you get there late and get back here I am going to bitch slap you!" I growled.

He grinned, perfectly aware that I would never lay a hand on him—as opposed to Emmet and Jasper, both of which I had hit on occasion—and nodded.

I closed the door behind him, went to sit on the couch and picked up '_Pride and Prejudice_'.

"True goodbyes are the ones never said or explained," Bella said quietly, leaning against the door frame of her bedroom.

"I need more hellos," I murmured.

She laughed. "Snoopy?"

I nodded. " '_Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos_'."

Bella walked closer to me, smiling gently. "Richard Bach said, '_Don't be dismayed at goodbyes, a farewell is necessary before you can meet again and meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends_'."

" '_I quit, I give up, nothing's good enough for anybody else, it seems...When I'm all alone it's the best way to be. When I'm by myself nobody else can say goodbye. Everything is temporary anyway_'," I quoted quietly. I realized as I finished saying it that it was what I had believed for such a long time, only_ not_ anymore. I didn't feel like correcting myself though.

"I don't know that one," she said curiously.

I waved my hand. "It's anonymous."

"He was a very prolific author," she said, nodding in wisdom. It took me a moment to understand and laugh, and she grinned.

She walked to me, took the book from my limp fingers and threw it on the couch at my side, before sitting in my lap and hugging me. My thigh hurt, but it was well worth it.

I sighed contentedly and hugged her back, playing with her long hair. I rested my chain on her shoulder, staring at the wall covered by the bookcase, one hand twirling a lock of dark hair as the other made idle paths on her back.

"You'll see him again," she said, kissing my temple lovingly. She ran her hands gently, soothingly, through my hair, and I closed my eyes. I hummed in approval, rolling back my head to rest it on the couch's back so she could keep doing that.

She giggled slightly, playing with my wild hair, alternatively smoothing it and making it stand on end, pulling it very slightly. I liked that it was a loving gesture, but at the same time had a very small edge of pain. I shifted under her, trying to be more comfortable and just then realized: a) I had an erection, and b) the side of her thigh was pressing against its rather defined form.

She chose that moment to notice it too, and froze, her eyes wide. A blush crept up her cheeks swiftly, fiery red and warm.

"Damn it. I'm sorry," I mumbled, straightening my head.

"It's my fault, I shouldn't have—"

I shook my head. "No, it was all me. It's my overactive mind, you were perfectly innocent."

"Well, not exactly," she mumbled shyly. I looked at her eyes, blinking. "I mean, I really wanted to do that to your hair. Since I met you, actually. You have what Alice calls sex-hair. Well, she told me. I mean I wouldn't know. Sex-hair, I mean, I wouldn't know—"she was babbling.

I leaned forward and just caught her lips in mine without another word. She hesitated, leaning back a little, but my hand was at the small of her back and she grabbed my shoulders to keep from falling to the ground. Then she just relaxed into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. My left hand slid up to the nape of her neck and tangled in her hair and my right stayed at her waist.

I played with our lips for a long while, just enjoying the silky texture of hers. I pulled on her bottom lip, sucked it in, and did the same with the top one. It was her that licked my bottom lip, furthering this kissing business. I couldn't complain, and I readily deepened the kiss. I wanted to kiss her, but she didn't seem to agree with me taking control, and at last I just gave in, letting her have it. I was fine so long as her lips stayed on mine.

She raked her hands through my hair, at the base of my skull and I grunted, gripping her left thigh with my right hand.

I felt a wave of heat in my abdomen that snapped my eyes open. God.

_Get a grip_.

"Bella." I broke away, breathing hard. Hell, _everything_ was hard. I had to stop this before it went too far. Fuck, it had already gone _too far_, but I needed to stop before it went any _further_.

Further as in me throwing her on the couch and getting her out of her jeans. And then some.

Fuck, I always did this with women. Once I got them I just took them. But Bella was different, and not only was she different, I was different with her. And I liked how I was with her. I didn't want to ruin it. I didn't want to hurt her.

"You need to stop," I breathed, pressing my forehead to her collarbone. I shifted beneath her again. We stayed like that for a while, still. I sighed.

"I have more self control than I thought," I said, slightly amazed that I had managed to make myself stop for her.

"Yeah," she said, and laughed nervously. "I wish I could say the same."

I chuckled. "Are you alright?"

"Um, I would love to have the ground cave in and swallow me," she said honestly.

I laughed. "I'm not easy; not a lot of women can get me like this just messing with my hair. Don't be embarrassed. I'm not." And I wasn't. I didn't mind admitting that I wanted her—I wanted her so _badly_—and I didn't mind that she knew just how much. I never thought there was anything embarrassing about sex.

Was she embarrassed because I was the first man she'd ever gotten this far with? I needed to ask that now. I had to know.

"I'd better get off—" she said, shifting.

"It's fine if you want to stay. I can calm down if you keep still." But I didn't make to try and keep her on me. If she was more comfortable leaving, then so be it. I would miss her weight, but I wouldn't force her.

She hesitated, but in the end her shyness won over and she carefully moved to sit by my side on the couch, crossing her legs Indian style again. She did that a lot, folding her legs near her body, I'd observed. I slid down on the couch and relaxed, knowing I could will the excitement away. That position made my problem more visible but really, why would I hide it? She already knew it was there anyway.

"Bella," I said quietly, staring at the ceiling. "Do you have a boyfriend back home?"

"Eh? Erm, no. You? Any boyfriends I should know about?"

I laughed and shrugged. "A couple, but I'll leave them all for you, babe."

She chuckled.

"No girl waiting for me to come back, no," I answered seriously.

"And don't call me babe," she reminded.

"Right on, chick." I grinned.

"Oh, keep up the nicknames, _Eddie_, and you will be sleeping where you are."

"Maybe I don't want to _sleep_." Had I just said that? And with an eyebrow wiggle, too? "I'm an asshole," I said clearly.

She nodded. "I don't know what you are anymore, but you certainly got your asshole _role_ to the peak."

True.

"Bella, have you ever been in a serious relationship?" Where did that come from?

I glanced at her and she was clearly wondering the same, because she was looking at me like I was crazy.

"Look, if what you want to know is whether I'm a virgin, just ask." She cocked an eyebrow.

Right. No filter.

"Are you?"

She huffed. "Not any of your business." But I could tell she wasn't angry.

"Bitch," I muttered.

"Dickhead." She slapped my chest playfully. "I'm not about to share my experience—or lack thereof—with some strange man-whore."

I couldn't really argue with that. I sighed and stood up. I still had a bit of a semi hard-on, but I couldn't do anything about it right now, so I ignored it.

"The window in your bedroom overlooks the street. I can have a better viewpoint from there and you need to sleep."

She complied.

Three hours later we had an argument because she wanted to stay awake with me and I wanted her to shut up and '_get to sleep already'_. She was as stubborn as a fucking mule with a whim, I swear. Finally I agreed I'd take the night shifts—we were more likely to be attacked at night while the neighborhood slept—, then we would have breakfast and I would sleep in the morning as she kept watch. We'd have the afternoons to occupy in my learning the language, and she would get to sleep after dinner.

She didn't know her shifts would be about six hours' tops, which was my regular sleep pattern. I didn't tell her because she was going to keep arguing and I didn't feel like it.

So she slept, and I stood by the window watching the street and listening to her breathing, her sighs and the small noises as she rolled around in the sheets.

And just then, I realized something I hadn't noticed the other two nights when we slept together. And I blame that on my semi-comatose state at both times.

Bella talked in her sleep.

And she said the most _interesting_ things.


	11. The Third Floor

**Chapter 11. ****The Third Floor.**

**/Edward/ **

The water wasn't as hot as I liked it, but it worked. I rubbed the soap on my skin, staying carefully clear of the shot wound, the cracked shoulder, the chest, and the thigh—hell, I should just wash my feet and hands.

Once I stepped out of the shower, I rubbed soap on my cheeks and chin and shaved thoroughly. I forced a comb through my hair—I would need a hair cut soon, this shit grew like it was trying to spring out of my skull and have its own life—and then pulled on the jeans.

I strapped the boots on before going out, and when I finally came out of the bathroom, Bella was sitting Indian style on the couch, fiddling with this huge professional Cannon camera.

"Sorry, I don't have time to make a dirty film right now. Can I take a rain check on that?"

She rolled her eyes. "I understand male porno stars are supposed to be all tan and hairy, not skinny and blue." She eyed me. "And you don't have any chest hair." I didn't have _much_, I'd give her that.

"I'm pale, I blue easily," I answered with a grin. "And I'm not skinny, I'm lanky."

"Same shit and all." She smiled sweetly.

"Says the pot to the kettle," I observed. She was paler than me, and that is something, let me tell you. And talk about skinny. She couldn't weight over fifty kilos.

"Where are you from, anyway? Alaska?"

"Arizona." She answered. "I lived in Phoenix with my mom. You?"

She left the camera on the coffee table and came over to bandage me up again. Her eyes lingered on my stomach and I suppressed a grin. I'm genetically gifted, I admit it. I just don't put on weight.

"Chicago," I answered.

"What did you do before you joined the Navy, Edward?" she asked suddenly. "Don't think I didn't notice you skipping that subject."

Of course she noticed, damnit. "I just, you know… nothing."

"Your eloquence astounds me."

"I didn't do anything, really," I said.

She gazed at me with her doe eyes and I finally relented. Enough with the blocking stuff, right? She couldn't help me if I didn't let her.

"Okay, I screwed around. You know… rich young heir life and shit."

"So basically you're telling me you spent two years drinking and having sex with anonymous one night stands," she summarized and I flinched. It wasn't because of the antiseptic either.

"I'm not judging you," she soothed, smiling. "I just put it in words you would use if you weren't so afraid to scare me off."

I had to laugh. If I didn't love her, I think I'd be scared of her.

"Listen, I have to call the Admiral today," I said, changing the subject. "You're coming with me because I can't leave you alone and unprotected, but you need to do exactly what I tell you and trust me, you understand?"

"I trust you," she said without hesitating. I stared at her. She rolled her eyes. "Okay fine, I'll do as you say."

She bandaged me up, helped me put on my shirt and sweater and then I slipped on my jacket as she searched for her coat.

"We'll go to the exact other side of town to make this call, so be prepared to walk for maybe an hour and a half, two hours, each way."

"I'm not the one limping," she called back.

When she returned to the living room she was wearing both her winter coat and a huge grin, so I didn't answer. It was slightly pathetic how one smile could make me shut up. She had a leash on me, evidently.

I checked the wall clock; eleven in the morning. Plenty of time to go to the farthest phone, make a quick call and be back before nightfall. I didn't like the idea of being outside of the apartment after dark, where we would be exposed.

The easy familiarity with which I kept her close to my body was not insincere. She didn't reject my touch and I liked having her close, not only for security purposes. I slung my rifle on my right shoulder and allowed my left arm to wrap around her waist as we descended the stairs.

"What did you wanted to do, when you were little?" she asked halfway down the steps. "Did you always think of the navy, or just when Emmett told you?"

I was reluctant to talk about the time when my parents were alive. It was just too painful. But, if I didn't talk about it, it would never heal, so I forced the words to come out of my mouth.

"I wanted to be a pianist," I answered. "I was in the Conservatory in Chicago, and I was going to make a career after I graduated from high school, but when… _they died_," I ground out viciously. _Say it, say it, man up_, I chanted in my mind. "I just dropped out."

"What kind of music did you like?" she asked, unlocking the front door of the building and going through as I held it open.

"Um, mostly classical. Debussy more than the rest. But there are some incredible modern pianists out there, like Brad Mehldau, and I liked them too. I used to compose classical pieces with a modern twist, you know, new age classic."

"You compose?" she asked, looking at me in admiration. "Wow. I've never met a musician."

"You still haven't; I'm a Navy pilot," I replied.

"You ever heard the phrase 'what you do is what you do, not what you are'? There are shop boys, and there are boys that work in shops for a while!"

"You're quoting '_Stardust' _to me?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"Hey, I love that movie. It's brilliant," she defended.

"Sure, if you like 'whatshername' attempting an English accent." Which she managed fairly well, by the way, but I was trying to tease Bella, so I wasn't going to say it.

"Tease all you want, tough guy, but you've seen it and that kind of murders your self-righteousness."

"I only saw it for Robert DeNiro."

"Yeah right." She snorted, but I wasn't paying attention anymore because I had locked gazes with someone across the street.

James Adler.

James Adler from Hawkeye 03.

His blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail as always, but his handsome face sported a whole new burn-wound that started at his left temple and spread across his cheekbone and forehead to his nose. He hadn't lost the left eye by a miracle. It would be a horrible souvenir for the rest of his life.

I nodded very slightly at him and he nodded back and glanced at the building. I felt a cold chill down my spine.

He knew where we were, knew where to find us. And I'd never liked Adler. In fact, he was the one I'd jumped in a bar last August for calling me 'momma's boy'. I'd been in court martial for that shit. I turned and kept walking with Bella as if nothing had happened, but she sensed my concern and kept quiet.

I didn't like this development one bit. I was (moderately) happy to know he'd lived and that possibly there were more survivors from Hawkeye 03, but I would have rather he never knew where we were hiding.

We had a traitor and I didn't know who it was, and it could very well be Adler. I ought to give him the benefit of the doubt and I would, but not without securing Bella's and my safety first. The damage was done, he knew my location, but more importantly, he knew I was with Bella. Now I had to take every precaution possible.

I would have to find us another safe place. We would move immediately—I would like to never return to the apartment but that wasn't possible. We had our stuff there, Bella's cameras, clothes, coats, food and drinks we would need if we were forced to return to the woods. I didn't want to have to do that, but if it was what it took to keep us, _her,_ safe, I would.

There was always the choice of the run down part of the city. It would be nearly impossible to find us there, but it had as many good things as it had bad. I'd already assessed that the safest part was the one we were in when I'd been faced with the decision before, three nights ago. The dangers outweighed the hiding offers.

But that had been when we were three. Maybe being two, the war-zone part was safest. I still would have preferred to remain in the safe part, if only to ensure Bella's comfort momentarily. But then I suppose I much rather her being uncomfortable than exposing her to danger so it's not as though it was a difficult decision.

The lack of knowledge I had of whether Adler was the traitor or not had me on edge. I didn't know whether I should make a drastic move or keep it cool. I didn't want to overreact and scare Bella, but I couldn't risk an unnecessary danger either.

I had too much time to think about, too many possibilities. Had the situation been more desperate, I would have made the decision in a split second. I worked better under clear pressure.

Had Carlisle been here, I would have bounced ideas back and forth with him, getting his opinions and assessments. But, thankfully, Carlisle was nowhere around so I would have to settle for myself. Unless I spoke with Bella…

No, I couldn't scare her.

Then again, she didn't seem the kind that would panic easily—in fact I knew she wasn't. My fierce urge to protect her battled for a while with the need to consult her—she was so intelligent, so trustworthy… I expected she would give me a good option.

In the end I didn't want to hide anything from her, so I told her about Adler, and all the ideas I'd been entertaining.

"So you think we should hide somewhere else until we're sure this James fellow is good?" she summarized when I was done.

I nodded. I started looking around for a public phone, considering we'd walked far enough. My right thigh ached, I'd pushed it more than I had considered to begin with.

"Well, assuming he _is_ the traitor," she said. "He can just ask around a little and know we're in the second floor apartment. I think a good way to determine whether he is the traitor or not would be to find a hiding spot where we could watch what happens to our current building; see if a bunch of soldiers burst in attempting to catch us."

I nodded. "But remember how hard it was to find that apartment? The chances of finding one nearby—and besides, it would be dangerous. They could just ask and find us anyway."

"Usually when someone tries to run away, they go to the farthest place they can think of," she mused. "So logically, the first place they would think of looking for us if we're not in the apartment would be in the run down part of the city. Which makes me think they would never look for us in the same building."

I thought about that. "No, they would burst into every damn apartment and tear through the entire building looking for us. Besides, we can't trust anyone enough to hide us, Bella. We don't know them."

"We don't need to trust them. We can let them think we're leaving, and then hide on the third floor."

"There are no stairs," I reminded her.

"Not inside, no," she agreed.

At last I spotted a public phone-booth and ushered her in that direction.

"But there are emergency fire escape stairs at the back."

I gave that a few minutes of thought. "If we thought about that, won't they?"

"Not if we let all the neighbors think we left. Remember what I said about people hiding as far away from danger as possible? They won't think we'd be as stupid as to hide right over their heads. Too daring."

"Exactly. Stupid," I mumbled half heartedly,

She scowled at me, but got in the booth before me and I closed the sliding door. Bella picked up the tube, slipped in three coins and listened to the directions, pressing numbers from time to time. Three minutes into the call she was picked up by an operator, and she described what she wanted. At some point she gave a fake name—Marie Slaven—and then waited some more, before she passed me the phone.

"Dial the number directly, no international code. You're already in the US."

I nodded and dialed the number for the Admiral's cell phone.

He picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Will," I said, feeling like an idiot though Carlisle had told me very specifically to talk like this.

"Just checking in."

"Tony, how are you doing?" Anthony was my second name.

"I'm okay, just here, enjoying the cold, meeting with some old friends, as questioning as the pleasure might be."

The Admiral was a smart guy; I hoped he had all his lights on today.

"Well, better be on the safe side, Tony kid," He said darkly. "So listen, I was wondering if you have any news for the old group? I feel nostalgic."

"I met with Matt the other day; he's fine, with his family," I said, and passed my arm around Bella's shoulder to bring her close to my chest.

"Say, I was thinking of maybe visiting you?"

"Really? Great! You want me to send someone to pick you up, kid?"

"Sounds cool."

"Well, I have these friends from England on their way nearby, you know? You could catch a ride."

So, we had an inter-Army cooperation. _Thank you, God._

"But I'd like to hear from the old fellows before then, in case they want to join you. I've only heard from two of them."

Shit fuck. Someone was missing. I'd lost a group. Shit! Who was missing?

"Oh? Matt's fine…"

"Yeah, so is Topher. And I heard from Charlie this morning."

Huh? The fuck? Topher? Christopher? _Christensen_. I'm losing brain cells; I swear I used to be intelligent. So Christensen and his people were good, thank God. Jazz and Alice were safe. And so was Carlisle, thanks all the Gods in the different pantheons across the globe.

But, that still left Cormack, Carter and Newton missing and I feared the worst. I didn't like this at all.

"Well, let's give it two more days and I'll call you back, huh?" If they hadn't called by then, they weren't calling at all.

"Two more days," Eagle Eye said. "You take care of yourself, kid."

"Sure will," I said, and we both hang up at the same time.

We got out of the booth and started walking away. I wanted to give it a few blocks in another direction before actually heading back home.

The call had been a minute long, a time I was very satisfied with. I told Bella that Jazz and Alice were fine and she gave me a bright smile. I thought about not telling her of Newton and the others being unaccounted for, but what was the point of lying to her just so she wouldn't worry? That would only chink the trust she had in me right now and I wasn't willing to risk that.

We made our way back to our hiding place slowly since we had the time. It was two o'clock in the afternoon by the time we made it back to our building. I carefully lead the way around the back.

As Bella had said, the building had the typical old fire escape stairs structure outside. I had to climb on top of an old dumpster and hang my entire weight on the ladder to get it to come down all the way—an activity my injured shoulder wasn't happy about at all, _shit!_—and the whole structure shook precariously when I did. This thing hadn't been used in decades and it wasn't very well taken care of. It was a liability, so I told Bella to stay down while I checked it out.

Of course, that got me a curse in some language I'd never even heard of and a scowl and then Bella was right behind me.

"What did I say about doing what I told you?" I hissed angrily.

"My memory fails me," she hissed right back at me, as she carefully made her way up before me. Not because I wanted to ogle her butt (though she had a very pretty ass; _what? I'm a male_) but because I wanted to be below her to catch her if she slipped, which let's face it, wouldn't be surprising.

We climbed past the second floor and got to the third. The window there was stuck, but I used some brute force and managed to open it. My shoulder was going to kill me, though. I came in first, rifle aimed ahead of me just in case.

The third floor of the building showed clear evidence of the fire that had devoured the staircase inside. It was all covered in coal and blackened by the smoke. Half burnt pieces of furniture lay haphazardly around—the old skeleton of an iron bed, a couch with black upholstery and a missing leg, and old burnt wardrobe, an overturned kitchen table with three broken chairs. Sheets covered some things, but were ripped and dirty. A thick cape of dust covered everything and floated up from where my boots touched. The quiet was ominous.

I made my way out of the apartment towards the hall to see the top of the stairs. The door hung by the top hinge, splintered. The remnants of the stairs were old, charred fangs of pointy wood, dangerous and sharp. If only Buffy could see all these potential stakes, I mused.

I went back to the apartment where Bella was crouching on the ground clearing an old framed photo from a pile of overcooked rubble.

"A family lived here," she said quietly. I crouched down next to her and looked at the photo in the golden light of the sun that streamed through the filthy windows. In its rays, I saw that particles of dust and ashes coated the air. I felt the urge to cover Bella's mouth and nose so she wouldn't breathe them in.

God forbid she breathes a bacterium, that's obviously the greatest risk she's been exposed to as of late.

_Get a fucking grip, Masen_.

The photo was of a family of four, and it was old, perhaps from the fifties. The father was sitting on the floor hugging a small boy and the mother was sitting on a couch holding the hand of the teenage daughter.

"You think they all died?" Bella asked, so softly, as if she thought her beautiful voice would disturb the calm of the old apartment.

"I don't know, love," I said gently, pressing my lips to her temple. "Let's go. Let's get our things and come back here."

We made our way down the fire escape stairs and came around to the front of the building. We gathered the things we would absolutely need—food, water, our clothes, Bella's backpack—and made sure the inhabitants of the other apartments saw us leave with all our stuff, so they thought we were moving. We went a couple of blocks away, then turned and snuck up to the back of the building, making our way into the third floor just as nightfall came. Once there, I felt safer.

We didn't have any heating here and the night was harsh. We couldn't cook, so we ate cookies for dinner. I wrapped Bella up in one of the blankets we'd stolen from the apartment below and then crouched down by the window to watch the street.

"My favorite song from Debussy is 'Clair de Lune'," She said very quietly, a couple of hours later.

"Really?" I glanced at her quickly and then looked back at the street, reluctant to loosen my vigilance. "That's mine too. You didn't tell me you liked classical music."

She thought back on the conversation earlier. "I was sidetracked when you told me you composed your own music. Why did you give up the piano?"

_For the same reason I gave up everything else_, I thought grimly. "My dad taught me how to play," I said softly. "He started when I was four. He was always traveling, so when he was home, he made a point out of spending time with me. We spent at least an hour and a half on the piano every day when he was home. When I grew up I took classes, but he got me started. When they died… I just couldn't play anymore."

My father's memory had been in every key, his voice in every tone. The ivory keys had reminded me of his bright green eyes as he laughed in delight when I learned a tune. It had been too painful.

"Edward… even after they died, your life kept going," she said sadly. "It didn't need to end with them."

"I didn't do it on purpose," I murmured.

"I'm not saying you did. But you didn't do anything to stop it and for that, you have some blame. You should have known better. You father wouldn't have wanted you to leave the conservatory."

"Look, I don't know what my dad wanted, and neither do you," I said tiredly. "Can we please just not talk about this right now? It's not the time and trust me, even when this is all over, my traumas will still be here for you to dissect."

"Edward, when this is all over I'm going to go into the Witness Protection Program and you're never going to see me again," she said, exasperated.

That got my attention and my wide eyes locked with hers.

"I'm never letting you out of my life, Bella," I said firmly.

She sighed, pressing her forehead to her knees. "You don't know what you're saying."

I was ready to argue that, but just then activity burst on the street below us.

"We got ourselves a rat," I murmured quietly, as two jeeps and a truck poured armed men into the street right in front of our building.

James Adler was dead! I was going to put a bullet in his skull, so help me God.

I heard the doors give in under the pressure of a mallet and I heard the distinct noise of footsteps on the stairs as boots stomped up.

Not very subtle, if they were hoping to catch me unawares. Bella tensed and came closer to me, and I pressed her back to the wall and got in front of her, aiming at the door. It was unlikely they found a way up, but on the off chance that they did, I wanted to be prepared.

The door to our apartment was flung open and men stormed inside. I could hear them and feel the vibrations through the walls to the floor under my boots. Then they started screaming as they realized we weren't there. There were at least twenty to twenty five men down there and there was no way I could protect us if they figured out we were up here.

Then they broke into the other apartments, asking questions, demanding answers. Bella murmured in translation that no one knew where we were, they only knew we had left earlier today after lunch time and hadn't come back. When asked in what direction, no one knew to answer until one old man said we'd left up the street towards the Monument, whatever that was.

I watched very carefully as the two jeeps reloaded their men and left in that direction, intent on finding us if we happened to be wandering the streets. The truck stayed behind with seven men.

Seven men, I could take care of easily if I had the darkness on my side, which luckily I did. The truck wasn't leaving and the men were studying the building attentively. I realized they were going to figure out that we could have hid up here and come look, and then we would be doomed.

I made Bella pack up the food, water and the blanket into the duffel bag and sling it on her shoulder. I would have carried it gladly, but I needed to be free to move and fight.

We had to get down from here before they made up their minds to come check the back, so we quickly got out to the fire stairs and started our descent. Bella had dropped onto the ground and rolled against the wall when they finally came around. There were two.

I dropped and crouched, trying to hide, but they saw me. By the time they took aim, I was already shooting. Staying back here and waiting for the others to come looking for us was an appealing option, where I held the advantage because they didn't know where I was and I would see them first. But I couldn't risk the possibility of giving them time to call for backup if they had a radio, so I decided to take the offensive. I snatched the rifle from one of the dead men and hung it on my shoulder. I'd been careful and still had plenty of ammo left in my rifle, but it was better not to risk it. Bella kept behind me obediently as I led her around the building to the front.

I ran into a third and shot him twice as his own shot snapped the dirt next to my foot.

Just like I had thought, there were two guys in the truck, one speaking on a radio. I killed them both, then pressed Bella to the wall and waited for the other two to come around. They had most likely been ordered to try and catch our backs, rounding the building by the other side.

It didn't slip by unnoticed that we hadn't actually been _shot at_. But that they weren't trying to kill me didn't necessarily mean I had to return the favor.

The other two guys were more careful. They weren't coming around the edge and I didn't have time to play hide and seek. The guy could have already called for backup—would have if he was well trained and smart.

I cursed, tossed a prayer to God and lurched to the edge. I dropped to the ground, rolled and gained my knees just as one of them lunged at me. I shot him in the chest twice and then got up and backed away as the other aimed his gun at my legs. He was trying to make me still. I moved quickly enough that the bullet only grazed my right thigh—fuck that _hurt_—and shot him in the chest twice.

Bella was at my side immediately. Our only option now was to take their truck and make a mad dash towards the war part of the city, where we could hide easier. We were slamming the doors shut in a breath, and I lurched to the street.

The radio started vomiting gibberish and I glanced at Bella.

"They're saying they're on their way, making a U turn," she said. "They'll reach the building in five minutes."

That gave me five minutes to put distance between us. I would have loved more time, but you get what you get. They would most likely lose some more minutes trying to figure out what had happened, until they found the bodies and came after us. We all knew the fastest way towards the war zone, so I had to push my head start to the maximum.

I raced through the streets like a bat out of hell, barely even so much as _touching_ the breaks.

"They're at the building and since the truck's not there they want to know where the guys are that went in pursuit," she said, as the radio starting barking again. "I think we can assume they know we have the truck."

I nodded again, pushing the gas pedal to the floor. I stuck to the smaller streets, trying to put miles between us even if it meant giving up some speed. I could see smoke and fire coming closer and I knew we'd be in the war zone soon.

We'd ditch the truck immediately and run, try to get as far away from it as humanly possible.

I turned down a street and slammed on the breaks—it was obstructed by a pile of rubble that this truck had no chance to climb over. We were still moving too quickly by the time we crashed and the hood slammed into it. The back wheels went over our heads, the sky turned into the ground and then all went black.


	12. War Zone

**Chapter 12. ****War Zone. **

**/Edward/ **

As this had happened so often lately, what woke me up was pain. Searing-hot, pulsating, maddening pain in my shoulder.

It was definitely broken.

Something pulled mercilessly on it and I cried out.

"Edward God, please wake up," Bella pleaded next to my ear, touching my hair, my face, my neck. I coughed and spit blood. I had a fleeting moment of panic thinking the rib had finally gone through some vital organ, but then I realized I had just bitten my tongue.

I coughed again, spit some more and forced my eyes open. I was lying on the ceiling of the truck, with its wheels in the air. Bella was trying to pull me out through the passenger door. I rolled to my right, choked on the pain, spit bile and forced myself to crawl out with her help.

"How long was I out?" I ground out, staggering precariously to my feet.

"Two or three minutes. I never blacked out," she said desperately, holding onto my right arm. I nodded slowly.

"Get the rifles. We gotta move." I leaned against the truck to try and realign my muscles so I could function, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The fog cleared slightly in my mind and I straightened. My left arm hung useless, but I couldn't worry about that now.

I lead the way forcing my legs to climb over the rubble that had formed the truck's deathbed and then ran down the street. My head cleared further now that I was moving, and I could think straight and move faster. I reached my right hand back and Bella caught it, and we started racing down the streets. We needed to get away from the truck, as far away as we could.

We were getting deeper into the war zone. It was still the middle of the night, but I could hear gunshots and shouts. I could even hear—was that a _tank_!?

It was a tank, alright. We came right upon it as we turned down a street. I lurched to a halt, turned around and raced away, Bella in tow. But she pulled at my arm.

"Let's go through there!" she called. "They'll block our enemy and give us more time!"

It was a risky, risky move, but would be worth it if it halted our pursuers' progress.

I went first, ducking my head and grasping my lifeless arm to my body. I crossed the street dodging bullets and waited crouched against a wall, watching as the fire paused momentarily, evidently shocked by the fact that some guy would just go through it like that. Bella joined me a minute later and we continued running away.

There were conflicts everywhere. I felt like I was in the long shot near the end of '_Children of Men_', where you knew you were in a battle, you just didn't know who the good guy was and who the bad guy was. Whoever won, you still lost.

We turned down a street and came upon another tank. This one had found a match, though, so we threw ourselves into a nearby building as they started shooting at each other. The closer tank was hit near the stomach and exploded, sending a shock and heat wave that had me staggering and Bella falling to her knees.

The chaos was making me dizzy. Or maybe it was the blood loss, I thought as I saw that my left shoulder had an exposed fracture at the top that was bleeding profusely. Then I realized it wasn't an exposed fracture, it was a shard of metal lodged in my arm, no doubt hurled there by the tank's explosion. I wrenched it out and proceeded to ignore it until we had time to deal with it.

The wall at the other side of the building was demolished so I dragged Bella towards it and we went back out into the street.

We advanced on that street for a few blocks, until we feel smack into a shooting. I cursed and dragged Bella inside a nearby half demolished house, where we found several more refugees. I continued to drag Bella across the house until we found a back door and got out, moving through another street. But this one was blocked by a house that had fallen down. Reluctant to turn back in our steps, I led Bella over the rubble. She slipped and fell, cutting open her arm, but it wasn't bad and she didn't complain.

I staggered into a wall and my shoulder speared me with white-hot pain. I cried out, my vision blurring.

"Edward," she said breathlessly. "You need to stop and rest. Please, let's just hide for a minute."

I nodded, and she dragged me into a nearby house. I slid down the wall, breathing hard. Just then I became aware than my left leg was hurt, I'd cracked the kneecap in the car crash. I could deal with it though. The priority was my shoulder. Bella helped me get the jacket off and simply cut with the scissors through the sweater, exposing it.

Without even asking she sprayed it with painkiller and then used the bandage to secure the arm to my torso and keep it still. It wasn't like I could use it anyway, so I didn't complain.

When she was done, she placed her hand on my cheeks and leaned in. We were both covered in dust and dirt from the bombings and the general chaos.

"Are you alright?"

I shook my head. "I can't rest." I said struggling to my feet against her will. "Bella if I stop I won't get up again for days," I whined. "We need to _move_."

She nodded, and we started walking again. For the next three hours, we went deeper into the war zone, until we came up to and old office building. I was shaking so badly I could barely breathe and I wasn't going to be able to move much farther, so we hid in one of the ground floor offices.

I sat against the wall shaking like a leaf. Bella made me drink water and eat the last cookies and eventually, the shaking subsided as the sugar went through my system.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked quietly.

"Wait for a couple of days, stay low," I answered. "When it's time, I'll call Eagle Eye again and get us out of here."

"Do you think we should stay here, or maybe go to the woods…?"

"Here," I said, shaking my head. "I won't make it to the woods."

She nodded. "We should be safe here," she said. I rolled my head back against the wall to try and think, and blacked out again. When I next woke up, it was fast approaching dawn.

"Bella?" I asked, alarmed by her absence.

"I'm here," she came to my side quickly. "I heard a noise and went to see, but it was just an old cat. We're safe. How are you feeling?"

"Better," I said honestly, because I couldn't feel my arm and my left leg was numb, so that had to be an improvement to the amazing amount of pain I'd been in before. God, now I understood why so many war veterans were addicted to morphine. Sure as hell would have loved a shot right now!

"Carlisle left a bottle of Vicodin and said you ought to use it if you were in a lot of pain," she said, searching in the duffel bag.

"I'm not exactly barefoot in the park right now," I mused. "But wait, does Vicodin make you sleepy?" I couldn't afford being sleepy when I had to be on the highest alert.

She shook her head and finally found the bottle. "No, it'll just erase the pain, and you'll be able to move again. I've had it before, twice."

"Why?" I asked as she gave me one of the rounded pills and fished for a water bottle.

"I happen to be very clumsy," she shrugged while handing me the bottle. I swallowed the pill and half the bottle, feeling parched. I gave her the rest but she declined saying she had already drank some.

As we settle in silence, I started hearing the noises outside. From where we were I couldn't hear any screams, but I could hear gunshots and tanks. This was worse than I had ever imagined. It was a full fledged out-of-control war zone. I hadn't thought it would be this bad, not even remotely.

I watched as Bella took care of her own injuries. Besides the cut in her arm, she sported a cut over her brow that had bled badly, as head wounds always go, and her hair was matted with blood. Her right cheek was scratched nastily. Other than that, I'd taken the worst and I was grateful for that.

The Vicodin started to work its magic, and I realized she was right; it just erased the pain, like a glass of scotch erases the cold after you swallow it. It spread through my limbs like warm honey, allowing my muscles to relax but not making them numb. It was amazing.

I was never going to judge M.D. Gregory House again, I swear. Not that I ever did, really. Actually I liked him. He was my kind of sociopathic asshole.

Anyway, once the Vicodin kicked in and I could think _beyond_ the pain of the many injuries, I started wondering how I was going to get us out of this mess. There was evidently no way there was phone service on this side of town, unless I killed someone and stole their cell phone, which I somehow doubt Bella would appreciate. To contact Eagle Eye again I would have to make it back to the other side, but realistically, I was beginning to doubt my ability to do that.

Being realistic is a bitch.

We hid in the office the entire day, alert to sounds of oncoming battle. Nothing came our way, though, and by the afternoon we were pretty certain we had eluded our pursuers. I would have been smug, if I could have smirked. As it was, I was only worried.

What about Emmett and the rest? What if James Adler got to them? I had to find a way to warn them.

I raced through a million ideas and discarded them all. The only chance I had to contact them was through Eagle Eye… or through our old radios. I was more than reluctant to use mine, risking detection, but then I figured that where we were, there were already so many mixed radio signals from all the other walkie-talkies being used by the soldiers of each side, that they might mask _my _signal.

I was going to have to risk it. If there was actually someone up there, I hoped He/She was in a good mood. I held Bella's nervous gaze as I pulled up the antenna. This was going to have to be very quick, and I hoped Em and the rest hadn't thrown away their radios.

"Hawkeye 07 troop, this is Hawkeye Commander. Beware of James Adler, he's a traitor and works with the enemy. Kill him on sight. I repeat kill James Alder on sight." I shut off the radio and slammed the antenna down. I couldn't risk waiting to hear a response.

It would have been a fluke of nature if they just so happened to have more than one goniometer installed around the city. Those shits were expensive, bulky, and delicate to care for. They weren't always exact. It took more than the time I had used to locate the transmission point. It took more than one transmission. I kept telling myself that we should be safe, but my mind wasn't believing it.

Nightfall came, and darkness stole the city. There was not a single light in this area and the smoke from the bombings and the war clouded the sky, covering the stars. The night was pitch black, and we only had brief snatches of stolen moonlight when the wind cleared off a whisk of smoke. The silence was deafening.

I was checking my wrist watch to see the time—midnight—when I heard the jeeps.

"Shit. Fuck," I mumbled, shaking Bella's shoulder to wake her up. "They found us."

"What? How—wait, it could be _anyone_."

"Yeah, 'cause we have that kind of luck." I growled at her. She had to agree to that, because there was no time to argue. "Bella, we're splitting. Grab your backpack and leave now. Go."

"I'm not leaving you," she said firmly, putting on her backpack and grasping a rifle. "We're in this together, remember?"

"You'll get us both killed," I said viciously. "I can protect myself, but I can't protect _you_ anymore. I need you to leave me alone and go away. I'm just going to run the other way and we'll see each other at the _Forks_, alright?"

She wanted to argue with me, but she knew I was right. She knew I was lying too; I wasn't going anywhere, I was holding this position for as long as I could, while she got as much terrain between us as _she_ could.

I wasn't sacrificing myself for her; I meant what I was saying, I was going to live and see her at the Forks. I didn't know how or when but I was going to see her again.

"Take a rifle," I said, looking out the window quickly. "Move low and move fast, stay in the war zone, try to find a group of refugees and hide with them. Call Eagle Eye as soon as you can, this is the number." I gave her the small piece of paper I had in my breast pocket. "Learn it and throw it away, don't keep it on you. His name is William Thrower. I'll see you at home. _Go_."

She slung the rifle on her shoulder, looking around urgently. Finally she looked at me, her eyes wet with tears. "Edward, I…"

"Go. You'll tell me later, just _get out of here_!"

She nodded and lurched forward, grasping the back on my neck and crushing her lips to mine. I moaned—more like whined really—and kissed her back desperately. The kiss lasted two heartbeats before I brought myself to push her away roughly.

"GO!" I thundered, and she got to her feet and left the office. I heard her footsteps towards the back of the building, heard them fade, and then heard nothing else.

It still took ten minutes before they got to where I was, and I was happy because that meant _she_had a ten minute head start in a place impossible to search thoroughly. I crouched next to the window and looked at the jeeps.

There were three of them this time, and one of them went around the back. Smart move there, fellows. I guess you live and learn. Nine mean in each jeep amounted to twenty seven men all for me. Lovely…

No time like now, I mused darkly, as I aimed and took the first shot. I followed in rapid succession, knowing my advantage was limited if existent at all, and I managed to kill six before they located me. Then I had to duck down and take cover. When I took the offensive again I took down three more from the other jeep, but realized they were coming into the building. I could do sniper technique and shoot them from a distance from where I was, but if they assaulted me, I'd be dead in less than a second. I couldn't fight them off in my state.

So I shot the ones that got closer, and prayed the ones that had come through the back took their sweet time advancing.

I knew I had a huge blind spot if someone hid against the wall at the front of the building where I couldn't see him and inched his way towards my window, but there was nothing I could do about that. I would have to trust my reactions and kill him when he came up.

I heard the door to an office burst open behind me and just then—because God exists and He fucking _hates_ me—my fucking rifle jammed.

Okay, I was unarmed, wounded and outnumbered.

The repeated line of Monty Python ('Run away!') came to mind.

I couldn't run out the front or out the back, though, for obvious reasons. So I cursed under my breath, and lunged myself out the side window. I rolled to the ground, jumped to my feet and ran with all my might.

I used to be on the track team in high school and I had always won the track races in boot-camp. I was the fastest marine out there. Then again, I had never competed against a jeep, and I had never run injured before, so I guess I could be excused if I wasn't at the top of my line.

A bullet grazed my back, and several more singed around me, but I was miraculously unharmed as I ran. Someone yelled an order and the fire ceased. Oh, right. They wanted me alive. I chanced a look back as I ran and saw two of the jeeps starting to chase me.

Well, _FUCK_!

The good news was, if they were busy chasing me, they weren't chasing Bella.

And at least they weren't shooting at my back, so I guess that was good.

I made a sharp turn and ducked into a building, went right through to the other side and ran down the street. One of the jeeps caught up with me from behind.

I wondered where the other jeep was, but not for long. It appeared right in front of me from the side street. There was no way to dodge it, so I jumped over the hood, slid down the metal and dropped rolling to the other side. I gained my footing again, and started running.

A maddening surge of pain erupted from between my shoulder blades. I cried out and dropped to my knees, shaking violently. I gagged, but there was really nothing in my stomach to make its way up my throat, except bile. I gasped between the retching and fell forwards. I reached my right hand to try and top the fall but my arm was too weak. My muscles weren't responding.

I knew this pain, I knew it from boot-camp—taser gun. They'd shot at us with taser guns to train us in how to defend ourselves. I knew I had to rip the electrodes from my back, but I was too weak. I was barely breathing. One of the jeeps pulled up close to me and I managed to roll to my side, gasping.

With a soft plastic click, the cartridge was released from the taser gun and replaced by a new one. A man towered over me, looking down and studying my face. He said something to his men, all the while staring at me. I didn't understand his words and it wasn't like I could answer anyway; I didn't have any breath.

He leaned down and grabbed my jacket by the collar, dragging me a few inches off the ground. My head rolled back; I was too weak to even keep it up. The edges of my vision were blurring and darkening. I was about to black out again.

I didn't need any help, I could pass out on my own, but the nice man still decided to kindly assist me. His fist landed square on my jaw and then I was out like a light.


	13. Prisoner

**Chapter 13. ****Prisoner.**

**/Edward/ **

For the first time in ten days it wasn't pain that woke me up, but biting, bone deep cold. I shook violently and coughed, spitting water.

I gradually became aware of my surroundings, starting by my position.

Tied to a chair and naked to the waist, I was drenched in icy water. I blinked and shook the hair out of my eyes, gasping loudly. My broken shoulder was swollen and hurt like a bitch. They'd tied my arms back and it was tense and in an awkward angle. The pain radiating from it reached all the way to my chest and fused in with the broken rib. If I hadn't been so miserable I'd find that funny.

"Oh, did I wake you? Sorry." The man standing in front of me smirked, and dropped the bucket to the ground. He kicked it and it crashed against the nearby wall with a surprisingly loud clatter. I blinked and winced because my head was pounding and the noise hurt my ears. I gasped and mist came out from between my lips in the cold air.

I gritted my teeth because I realized they were chattering.

The guy brought a chair closer and sat, crossing his legs elegantly and tugging at his black leather gloves. He was fully dressed in a thick wool winter coat. I was in only my jeans and shoes, so I could appreciate his clothes.

I looked around while he played coy, trying to remember what had happened. I was in a room without windows, with the walls severely stained with humidity and grime with the passing of the years. Two lamps hung from the high ceiling, casting a sharp white light from above that made the guy's features sinister. Between them hung a hook like the ones used to hang meat in the industrial refrigerators. Ghastly.

I swallowed.

"So," I said roughly. "You're planning to watch me die by hypothermia?"

"No," he smiled. "Though I suppose you will eventually wish I had allowed that to happen."

I arched an eyebrow. "Oh, you're going to torture me. Just to spare you the trouble, I don't know anything, and that answer is not going to change."

"You would say that, Lieutenant," he said sweetly.

I sighed. "Yes, I suppose I would," I mused.

"But, let me spare you the pain of the process," he said, leaning towards me like he wanted to be my friend. He even patted my knee. I would have gladly kicked him in the chin, but just then I realized my ankles were bound to the chair's legs. No kicking allowed, apparently.

"Tell me where Isabella Swan is hiding, and I'll let you go safely."

"Oh, okay." I nodded sheepishly. "Yes, sure, I can do that." He nodded encouragingly, like he actually believed I was going to out and _tell_ him. Jackass!

"Yeah, she's in my right front pocket, see?" I grinned. "And while you're sticking your hand down there, why don't you suck my dick?"

He sat back, laughing. "Your reputation precedes you, Lieutenant." He chuckled. "I knew you were not going to answer me so easily. No, surely you will make this a most _entertaining_ friendship."

"Sure thing, _friend_," I said.

He paused. "And your medic friend, is he not around? Is he with her?"

"He went on vacation. A long one," I said amiably.

"Is he dead, then?"

"Not _that_ long."

"Of _course_ not. You Americans exploit your workers."

"But we pay pretty decently."

"If you paid so well, you wouldn't have traitors, Lieutenant."

I grunted. "There's assholes everywhere; and I'm not a Lieutenant, I'm a Commander."

"The difference being…?"

"I'm two rates higher," I said drolly.

"Of course," he said sweetly. "You're one rate away of becoming a Rear Admiral, is that correct?"

"One rate and ten to fifteen years," I said conversationally. "I'm too young."

"Ah, but you're making a brilliant career."

I sighed. "Can we get to the torturing already? Or is boring me to death your kind of cruel torture? Why don't you start reading '_War and Peace_' to me, next?"

"Eager to feel pain, are you?"

"I'm just not eager to sit here and tell you about my life. We both already know about it, I'm sure," I said, and then smirked. "Plus, pain gets adrenaline pumping and that would shake off the cold."

"How many of your comrades survived the helicopter crash, Commander?"

I didn't hesitate. "All the ones in my Black Hawk survived." Let him think he had more men to deal with that he actually did. It was a stupid trick, but it was all I got at the moment.

"That would be 16 men?" he asked gently.

I nodded.

He moved so quickly I didn't even see him—I only saw the flash of the light on the blade before it sank into my thigh. All the way to the fucking handle! I cried out and gritted my teeth, grunting. The guy grabbed a handful of my hair and lifted my head again, smiling kindly.

"I suggest you don't lie to me, Commander," he said. "I _know_ how many men survived."

"Then why the fuck did you ask?" I grounded out, and he shoved my head back. I gazed at the handle protruding from my thigh with an odd fascination as blood swelled up and rolled down the sides of my thigh, soaking the denim.

"To see if you'd lie to me," he said. "I must say, if I hadn't known the truth, I wouldn't have known. You lie like you breathe."

I didn't answer that.

"Don't worry, I made sure to avoid the artery."

I glanced up at him, cocking an eyebrow. "Thanks. I appreciate it," I said, my voice dripping sarcasm.

He smiled, his eyes glinting.

Just then it clicked—he was insane. He was one insane motherfucker, and I couldn't do a thing to defend myself. I was at his mercy and by the look of things, it was nearly inexistent.

"Why don't you tell me what you talked about with Isabella Swan?"

"The weather," I answered apathetically. "She doesn't like the cold and I do, so—"

I growled when he ripped the knife out. I let out a steady string of curses as he wiped the blade on my other thigh.

"How much did she tell you?" he asked, toying with the knife, balancing it on my knee.

"She told me she particularly hates rain," I said.

This time he didn't sink it in—which I guess I should be thankful for—but he slid it across the top of my knee instead, slicing denim and skin. Blood poured out, not because it was particularly deep, but because he'd cut the edge of the bruise on my thigh and a lot of blood was pooled there.

"Ah, I needed that drained, actually," I said, watching the denim turn a deep red. "Thanks."

"Where do you think this attitude will get you, Commander?" he asked, as he carefully leaned closer to cut the bandages across my chest and around my shoulder. He gently ran his finger over the scabbing of the shot wound and I bit back a wince. "I wonder if you know how much damage can be done with a simple hunting knife."

I was starting to get an idea, but I didn't bother answering.

"What time is it?" I asked instead, because I was genuinely curious. I wondered how long I'd been out.

"The whole point of you being in this windowless room is you losing track of time," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "It's an added bonus to torture. I hope you appreciate it."

The fact that he spoke so lightly and happily about causing me pain in order for me to spill something I didn't even fucking know made me arch an eyebrow. I swear my eyebrows have a mind of their fucking own. Somewhere along the line I'd lost my ability to put on a poker face and he seemed to be highly aware of it. I didn't like it.

He tossed the knife up and down playfully, always catching it flawlessly by the handle. I refused to let my eyes lock on its path; that's what he wanted.

He smiled at me.

"Do you miss your parents?" he asked gently, and I stiffened. My face must have paled, because he chuckled. "Ah, it appears I've hit a nerve. How was it they died, again?"

I didn't answer because my jaw was locked in place. I was gritting my teeth so hard I might push them further into the gums.

"Answer the question, Commander," he warned lazily.

To my credit, I _did_ try to unlock my jaw. To tell him to **fuck the hell off**! But I couldn't do it fast enough, and he lost his patience. His slap caught me off guard because I'd never been slapped across the face before, except by Emmett, and even then it hadn't been so painful. Probably because Emmett hadn't put all his considerable weight behind his arm, like this guy did just then.

My head swiveled to the side and then back and I felt warm blood trickle down from a new cut on my lip. I licked my lips and spit to the side, glowering at him with a new, distinct brand of hate I'd never felt before.

Unable to voice this new feeling, the next time I spit, I did it in his face.

He didn't like that, and looking back, playing with the guy was a stupid idea. I'm an intelligent man, and I knew he was insane. I shouldn't have tried to find the edge to push him over, but my mind wasn't working straight, fogged with pain and fury.

He stood, fisted a hand on my head and shoved it back, resting the edge against my cheek.

"I need you alive, not unharmed," he hissed. "I know lots of things I can do to you without killing you."

I almost told him 'try it', but some rational voice in my mind made me swallow and bite my tongue. Well, it's good to know not _all_ of the compartments in my brain are suicidal. That small compartment was thinking of Bella, and the promise I'd made her: that I would see her in the _Forks_, that I would see her again.

_Stay alive, only long enough_.

He let go of my hair, but I kept my head carefully thrown back, staring at his eyes. He wanted me to play his game and he was teaching me the rules. For the moment, the best idea was to follow his lead.

I didn't know what was going to happen to me. Escaping on my own was a fairly ridiculous idea; I was severely wounded and tied to a chair. I didn't know where I was, or how long it had been since I'd been captured. For all I knew, I'd been out for a week and I was now in the Arctic. Try and escape half naked in the Arctic and tell me how it goes.

I was going to have to wait and be rescued. I was sure once Emmett and the rest figured out what had become of me they'd come looking. Emmett would never let me come to any harm if he could help me, and I knew abandoning me was beyond his abilities. He simply couldn't do it. He would get out of the Navy and come looking for me on his own if necessary and he wouldn't do it alone; Rose, Jazz and Carlisle would be right with him. So I knew I'd get out of here; I just didn't know how long it would take.

'I need you alive, not unharmed', just then registered in my mind. I would have asked him, but I sensed he'd had enough of my attitude for the moment.

When he was satisfied I wasn't going to defy him again, he stepped back and relaxed back into his chair.

"Let's made things clear, shall we?" he asked agreeably. "You lie, I hurt you. You defy me, I hurt you. You don't answer my questions like I want you to, I hurt you a little bit more. Clear?"

"Crystal!" I answered curtly.

He smiled at me sweetly, then got up and left the room, closing the door behind him with a finality that made me shiver. As soon as he left I started shaking from the cold again and I realized I'd held my body impossibly tense while he was here, to keep from doing just that. Shaking would have let him know how weak I was, and I couldn't accept that. He would know that the weaker I was, the closer I would be to telling him whatever he wanted to know. He didn't believe I didn't know anything, and he wasn't going to believe it. It was a no-exit situation.

He'd continue to hurt me and I still wouldn't have anything to tell him, so he'd hurt me more—a vicious cycle. And there was no preventing it.

I rolled my head back and stared at the ceiling. The hook hung right over my head, rusty and perfectly still. Because I was a tall man, if they hang me from it I would still have my feet perfectly planted on the floor. It was a very solid possibility that they would use it. So long as they didn't have me hanging from it for very long I wouldn't asphyxiate.

My mind latched onto the technical knowledge offered by that possibility, probably because it needed some outlet to the madness I was facing at the moment.

The constant position of having your shoulders forced back and your chest expanded, like I was now, or like I would be if I hung from the hook, prevented the thorax from expanding as the lungs filled. This constricted the lungs and made it impossible for them to come to their full size. The constricted lungs didn't send enough oxygen to the limbs, promoting the formation of various acids in the muscles because they worked in anaerobia. The lungs consequently filled with liquid, thus asphyxiating the prisoner.

Interesting concept.

At some point as I stared at the hook my eyes grew heavy and I fell asleep.

I was awoken abruptly by a sharp jab on my arm. I swiveled my head to the side, and stared at a man crouched by my chair. I realized what he was doing and looked up at my torturer, standing behind him.

"I.V.?" I questioned.

"So I don't have to untie you to feed you," he answered. "I realized I never told you my name," he said and smiled. "I'm Myr."

I nodded my head slowly and blacked out again.

I didn't know how long had passed when he awoke me again, throwing another bucket of icy water over my head.

I huffed. "You can just shake me or something. I'm a light sleeper."

"You were semi comatose, Commander," he said skeptically.

"I liked that," I bristled.

"Now, now, young man. What did I say about being insolent?"

He hadn't actually said anything about being insolent _particularly_, but I didn't think he would appreciate me pointing that out. Also, I was pretty sure a comment concerning that would fall under the categories 'defy him' and 'not giving the answer he wanted' and both would get me hurt, so I intelligently kept my mouth shut.

That seemed to be the right answer, because he smiled like he was congratulating me and nodded his head.

"So, back to business," he announced. "What did Isabella Swan tell you about what she knew?"

And here we go again, I thought dejectedly. "She didn't tell me anything," I said. "She was afraid she'd put me in danger by telling me, so she didn't."

"You expect me to believe that after ten days, she didn't breathe a word of it to you?"

I nodded. He casually took the hunting knife from his coat pocket and again, I refused to look at it.

"Are you sure you're being quite honest, Commander?"

"I'm not exactly telling you what you want to hear," I replied. Under torture, a man might be able to say anything the torturer wanted to hear, so long as it stopped the pain. I wasn't doing that, because I wasn't in that much pain just yet, and my imagination wasn't offering any false details that Bella might have hypothetically told me, so I couldn't give him any of those. So far I was sticking to the truth.

Except I _did_ know some stuff. Not the least of which was that the Pentagon was infiltrated, that higher-ups in the US Government were somehow related to the civil war currently in progress, and that what Bella and Alice knew would put an end to that. I also knew the British Army was involved, that they were mobilizing to come look for us, and that this was a particular army directed by someone rich and with connections. These things would buy me time if I told him, but I still wasn't in dire need to delay the inevitable. The pain of my broken shoulder still won over the stab in my thigh. So long as that kept up, I was good.

"Watch the insolence, Commander," he warned.

"I was answering your fucking question," I snapped before I could filter.

Great.

That got me a stab right next to the one from before, but at least this time I didn't cry out. I grunted low and my breathing increased along with my heart rate.

"_Fuck!_ _You!_" I growled, glowering at him with intense hatred.

He chuckled and tried to pat my cheek, but I snatched my head back, out of his grasp. He surged forward like lightning and grabbed my jaw with such force I knew I'd have bruises from his fingertips.

"You be a good boy now and _behave_, Commander, or I'll cut your tongue out," he said calmly.

I glared at him some more, but remained quiet. He seemed to find that acceptable and released my head brusquely, shoving it to the side.

My hair stuck to my skin and I shook my head to get it out of my eyes, glaring at him from under the wild wet mop.

I didn't doubt for a second that he would pry my jaw open and cut my tongue out if I mouthed-off again, so I decided not to push him over that fence. How the fuck was I going to tell Bella I loved her if I couldn't talk?

_And where the fuck did that thought come from? _

I briefly wondered if there was a drug in the I.V. they'd hooked me up to. It didn't make any sense, though. There is no such a thing as truth serums, not in reality. If they gave me a drug, it would be to relax me and make me easy to deal with. This meant either opium derivate or some kind of entertainment drug—the very drugs I was lethally allergic to, so that ruled out all kinds of drugging. I could tell they hadn't give me those because, well, I was alive and not in a coma.

"Commander? You kind of spaced out on me there," he said kindly.

"Yeah, I went to my happy place," I retorted. Well, fuck. Whatever happened to that small _not_-suicidal compartment in my fucking mind? Did it decide to go on a break? Because it sure as fuck wasn't the right moment.

"Do you _like_ pain, Commander?" he asked, a little incredulous.

"No, Myr," I answered tiredly. "I seriously don't, not at all." I thought for a moment. "Well maybe a little bit. But not _this,_" I glanced pointedly down at the knife still lodged in my flesh. "Kind of pain."

"Oh? Well, tell me about Isabella Swan and I'll stop _this_ kind of pain," he smiled.

I eyed him. "And move to what? Whips?" I asked sarcastically.

His eyes glinted dangerously. "What an appealing idea," he mused, and I sighed. Give him idea, why don't you, Masen? I was fucking retarded.

"But, alas," he sighed disconsolately. "I can't do that. If I hang you up on the hook, the I.V. won't properly give you nutrients and I can't have you die."

"Oh, surely not," I drawled. "We wouldn't want _that_."

He moved so fast I didn't know what was happening until the pain stole my rationality and made me gag on saliva. I dry heaved and coughed, choking on air. Bile crept up my throat and I forced it down viciously.

He'd punched my broken shoulder.

"I thought I told you to watch your tone, Commander."

I swallowed again and drew a deep breath to try and clear the fog from my mind. I was going to reply to that, but my vision wavered, the edges of my eyesight darkened and blurred, and I mercifully blacked out.

When I woke up next, a loud cry ripped from my lips. I heaved and warm bile flooded my mouth. I spit it out and looked around, confused and disoriented. My back arched away from the metal table I was lying on, shivering from the cold and the agony.

"Easy now." Myr appeared by my side, from behind one of the men holding me down. "We're realigning your shoulder before the damage becomes permanent. It'll be over soon."

I nearly hoped he meant he was going to kill me, and immediately banged my head on the metal table, hating myself for thinking that.

_This_ was how I was going to end my life? _This_ was how my _mother's son_ was going to give up like a coward, like a fucking _worm_? This is where my _father's son_ was going to let himself fall down the precipice, after ten years of being nothing at all and never becoming what he hoped I would?

I owed a fight to the memory of my parents and I was going to give it.

I grit my teeth and tensed, glaring wildly at Myr.

He smirked. "Good man," he praised, patting my chest friendly.

I'm not staying alive for _you_, I wanted to say, but I choked on the words as they moved my shoulder again and the pain clouded my brain and interrupted my thinking process. I turned my head to look at what the fuck they were doing to my shoulder and I saw them inject something directly onto it.

A warm feeling spread through my flesh born from that injection and eventually I fainted again under the weight of sedatives.

Next time I awoke gently, slowly. I stared at the ceiling above my lying form. I could feel the metal table below my back, now warmed by my body heat, as little of it as I was radiating right now.

I could feel the leather restrictions around my wrists and ankles.

There was a single lamp in this room, though the walls were as stained and uncared for as the other room I'd been in. I turned my head and saw a single chair against the wall, but I was alone. I tried to lift my arms to test the leather holding me to the table, but my left arm was immobilized with a local anesthetic. I lifted my head to look at myself and found my body freshly bandaged. They'd replaced my jeans with thick dark wool pants that were a little too big for my hips. I moved my legs and realized my thighs were bandaged under the pants.

I dropped my head back to the table and winced. I'd hurt myself before when I banged against it and it was swollen and tender.

Why had they healed me? I wasn't in any pain right now. I only felt a dull throb, nothing compared to the agony I'd briefly experienced the last time I opened my eyes.

Unable to get up from the table, my movements restricted by the bindings, and heavily sedated, I continued to stare at the ceiling dully. The steady dripping of the I.V. hooked to my right arm distracted me for a few minutes; but it too, eventually, lost its riveting interest.

The half empty bag was my only company for the following hours. I had no way to know how long I was left to myself, but I enjoyed the silence and solitude.

I began to think of Bella, and the way she mumbled my name in her sleep. How she whispered pleas that I didn't leave her behind, and how she smiled when I tentatively touched her warm cheek as she slumbered. I thought of the silky touch of her hair when I stroked it as we kissed. I thought of her luscious lips, of her waist under my fingertips, of her weight in my lap and her gentle voice as she read '_Pride and Prejudice_' to me, kissing my temple when I was frustrated.

I also remembered other things she'd said in her sleep—the very things Myr wanted me to tell him. But those were her secrets, things I wasn't supposed to know (she was possibly the worst spy to ever be born, but whatever) and that I wasn't going to divulge, even if it meant saving my life. I didn't want to die, but if I had to, at least I would do it on _my_ terms.

When I was fifteen, in high school, I'd never had the trouble of whether I wanted to be in the 'popular' crowd or be a 'loser'. Rich parents and good looks automatically placed me in the first one, because teenagers are just shallow, and that had worried my dad. Fifteen is an easy age to be manipulated, the age in which you only just start developing a character. My dad wanted to make sure I had one of my own, and he insisted I formed my own opinions by studying an evaluating. He made me an observer, which obviously, later on made me a brilliant strategist.

Since I was a child, he'd rather see me read than watching TV, and because I admired him, I did what he told me. He was my hero; surely if I did what he told me I'd someday be like him? He fueled my passion for literature with his own—he sat and read by my side and asked me what I liked about books, and what I thought of the characters. He sat with me on the piano bench and waited patiently as I cried when I was twelve and blanked out in my first concert because I was so nervous. I told him I was a coward and he shook his head.

'Courage' he told me 'doesn't always roar, Edward. Sometimes courage is that quiet voice at the end of the day, saying _I will try again tomorrow_. You try your hardest, you give it your all—and sometimes it won't be enough and you'll fail, but you'll know that you tried, and you'll be ready to try again. Being brave isn't about not being afraid—it's about facing your fears, embracing them and growing out of them. You aren't afraid of the dark anymore, right? Your stage fright will pass, too.' He'd closed his eyes and leaned closer. 'Next time when you're up there under the lights and feel scared, son, do this—count to five. Let the panic wash over you, for five seconds. Feel it, drown in it, let it steal you away—and when you reach the five, let it go. Five second of panic before you become strong.'

I'd told him I'd do him proud, but he didn't want that.

'Make _yourself _proud, Edward. I will love you always, regardless. But you are the one that has to live _with_ yourself. Make yourself the man you want to be.'

I didn't know why I was remembering him so clearly here, in a torture room lying tied to a steel table, wounded and captured. I was remembering him with a clarity I'd never remembered him with before, even when I had tried, in my roughest moments, to force my mind to think of him.

My throat ached and my head throbbed, but the grief wasn't consuming me. I kept telling myself, they died—and you lived. You went through that. I remembered Bella's words: 'your life didn't have to end along with theirs'.

Eleanor Roosevelt had said: You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience by which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along'.

She was right. It was time. I'd mourned enough, and as much as it hurt, a single tragedy couldn't rule my whole life. My father had had hopes for me—_I_ had had hopes for me. Dreams and illusions and excitement about the future. A future that I never reached. And it was right there, at my fingertips—and I just didn't stretch my fingers that last small inch towards it. I'd turned away.

Ten years.

It was time to let go.

I _had_ to live my life for myself. I had to visit their graves. I _had_ to go to the Manor in Chicago and open the glass walls and clean the dust off the top of the Imperial Bosendorfer piano in the music room. I _had_ to stop wasting my time in a career that while I was good at, wasn't the top of my potential. And maybe, I deserved better.

Maybe I deserved Bella.

But if I did, and if she wanted me, I had to be better. I had to be at the top of my wave, with the foam. And she couldn't help me with that. That, I had to do on my own. She could tell me I was better and that I was more, but if I didn't believe it, it didn't mean anything. She'd helped me enough… she'd broken me. Now I had to put myself together on my own, and grow up.

If I did that (that is, if I survived this little rescue failure) then I would be worthy of her in ways that I wasn't yet, and that I would never be if I didn't make it. She could be by my side while I did it—I would beg her to be, in fact, because she was a rock that I would need—but she couldn't do it for me.

And, ridiculously enough—in that small dirty torture room, lying tied to a steel bed, wounded and captured… I let go of my parents.

And the next time the door opened and Myr smirked at me, I smirked back.

I was ready to fight.


	14. Valkyrie

**Chapter 14. ****Valkyrie**

**/Edward/ **

For the last few days, gagging reflex and retching along with dry heaving were no strange sensations to me.

This time, though, I did vomit.

As I coughed and leaned over the sink in the bathroom rising my mouth, disgusted and feeling miserable, I heard Myr chuckle. I rested my back against the cold wall and shivered, bringing my knees close to my torso. I felt weak and sick.

"You fucking bastard," I said halfheartedly. "What did you give me?"

"Relax, Commander." Myr said kindly. "I didn't drug you. I actually gave you a perfectly decent dinner." He scowled at the sink. I didn't know what they'd given me to eat, but it hadn't tasted off. I didn't know why I felt sick. "I think you have famine syndrome," he sighed.

I snorted. "Too early, jackass."

Myr grunted. "I wish I could kill you, honestly."

"Right back at you," I mumbled. I brought my arms around my chest and shook violently. "While you're in the business of keeping me alive—can I get a fucking shirt?"

Myr looked at me with disdain. "With how you take care of your physique, I rather figured you liked displaying it."

"It's twenty degrees out, Myr," I retorted. "I can cut through glass with these." I gestured vaguely at my chest and Myr actually laughed.

"You are an entertaining man, Commander," he chuckled. "I wish I'd met you under different circumstances."

"Well, _I_ still wish I could kill you."

Myr slid down on his chair, scowling. "I hate it that they don't let me hurt you until you've recovered from your present wounds."

"Ah, thanks," I said sarcastically.

Myr mumbled something under his breath. I felt bile in my mouth again and glanced up at the sink, but I didn't throw up this time. I simply swallowed and forced the warm, disgusting thing down with cold water.

It'd been hours since he'd laid a hand on me. He'd come in with the tray and untied me from the bed and since then, had sat in his corner without moving. When I told him I was going to be sick (and I assume my face accompanied my statement because he leapt from his chair to the door) he led me along with two soldiers to this nearby, small, dark and damp bathroom. The soldiers had been right there, so I knew there was a constant armed guard at my door.

"Why am I being kept alive?" I asked conversationally.

"I don't know and if I did," he sneered at me, "I wouldn't tell you."

"How very original," I drawled.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe one of the higher-ups took a liking to your ass?"

"Oh, please kill me now. I'll pay you." I thought about that. "Actually, you know—I am rich. I could bribe you."

Myr gave me a level look. "Are we going to have that conversation, Commander? I am paid well. _Very_ well. Better than you Americans pay your workers. I ask for not more money."

"Women?" I asked skeptically. Then I smirked and arched an eyebrow because I'm a fucking asshole and I like it. "Men?"

Myr shot me a derisive look. "I am married, Commander, and I love her."

I smiled. "Yeah," I said quietly, thinking about that.

I was in love with Bella.

And that was bizarre. Not because I found it bizarre that I could still feel as strongly as that, but because I knew nothing about her. She'd lied to me, I knew, and not just by omission. She'd said she had been just a simple photographer who happened to take some pictures. She'd never told me why she'd come over here with Alice, and I suppose she didn't because she didn't want to feed me the lies they'd told her to say once debriefed by the US army.

But I was pretty certain she hadn't come on vacation or on a pleasure trip, especially because in the hypothetical case that she got paid that well, she wouldn't have a chance in hell to have such a long vacation from the SIS. The MI6.

The worst spy to ever be born, like I said.

But anyway, the point was that she'd lied to me possibly about everything she'd ever said. She might have never even been in Arizona. It might all have been an act to get me to trust her, to protect her.

And yet, I was still goofily in love with her, defying all reason and rationality. How do you fall in love with someone you know nothing about?

But then again, I didn't really know _nothing_ about her, now did I? So maybe I didn't know where she'd been born, or where she'd grown up. I didn't know her age, or what major she had wanted to follow when she was a little girl.

What little I knew, I loved. I had the rest of my life to ask what her favorite book was.

That is, if I survived. If I didn't though, that was fine—I would become Alder's personal fucking Poltergeist for putting me through this shit. And I would be no tame demon, let me tell you.

But, back to the matter at hand.

That last night at the office building when she'd left me, I had wanted to tell her that I loved her. I didn't want her to leave without knowing, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had been determined to survive, but in case I didn't, I didn't want those to be the last words she got from me.

I knew what it was like to live with the ghost of what could have been and never was. I couldn't do that to Bella.

"What's on your mind, Commander?" Myr asked, interested.

"Not much really," I shrugged. "I just keep thinking of the reason why I'm still alive."

"Well, if you're quite done vomiting, we can return to your room."

"I kind of like the bathroom better."

"You did need the shower," Myr grinned.

"Fuck you," I grinned back, and staggered to my feet.

"Are you at least feeling better?" he asked exasperated.

I imagined he asked so he could get an estimate of when he'd be able to hurt me again, so I didn't bother answering. When I passed by him on my way out the door he slapped the back of my head.

"I told you to answer me," he growled.

I thought a slap to the back of the head was the highlight of my day, which was pathetic and very sad, and simply nodded.

Apparently, the room with the steel table had become my permanent residence. He led me back there, but he didn't make any attempt at retying me to the table, for which I was grateful. Staying so still for so long made me cramp and become numb and I hated it. Myr seemed to have decided that keeping me happy made me slightly more cooperative. I tried to talk him into releasing me but that didn't go over very well.

"What? It would make me happy," I had said.

"Not _that_ happy, Commander."

This not-being-continuously-stabbed business gave me more time to think, and since I had it, I used it. That thought made me chuckle because my mother had always told me that I over thought stuff, and that I needed to loosen up and just _act_ for once. No thoughts, no guilt, no analyzing the different possibilities—just act. Mom and dad had always been very different and they found their common ground on frequent grays—each had their own opinion, and they would both live with the other's different viewpoint.

My mom had always been delicate and fine, carrying her ballerina-like body with a liquid grace that made looking at her just mesmerizing. She'd constantly seemed fragile to me, and I never understood why dad didn't hover protectively around her at all times, mindful of her frail figure.

Dad had had business in New Orleans, and because I was on winter break from school, we all went together. Mother had wanted to walk around the city, observing the retro beauty of times before ours that reflected so well in that city. New Orleans always held some kind of odd fascination over mother and me, with its mystic aura, its magic and its sense of being pulled from another time and space—like time in New Orleans existed in a bubble disassociated from the rest of the Universe. My mother had been an incredibly cultured woman, and she'd been explaining to me about the extensive history of the city when we were stopped in the street by a beggar.

The man was fragile and so very thin and he seemed sick. I immediately reached for my pocket, but my mother stopped me, placing a hand on my elbow. She got her card carrier out of her purse and gave the beggar a white card—my father's company contact number. She explained to him that if he called that number and explained his position, he would be given a temporary shelter and whatever was necessary for him to get back on his feet, including a job.

When the beggar left, eyeing her oddly, I asked her why she hadn't just given him money. She'd give him the coins he would need to make the phone call and that was it.

'Because, Edward, if I give him the meal, he'll never learn to fish. With the necessary will and dedication, anyone can get himself out of any predicament; but he must do it on his own. If I give him money, I do not help him, not really. Did you know that people starve in the richest lands of the world? Nobody teaches them to grow things in their backyards. If you give them money, they buy burgers—not seeds. I don't want him to eat a burger—I want him to cook himself a steak.'

And that was it, wasn't it? Doing things on your own.

I had never believed when Carlisle told me I didn't kill them, until I started _believing_ it on my own.

Still, dependent was one thing I had never been. I'd started a career in the Navy and I was brilliant at it and I'd done it all on my own. I'm not incapable.

As I contemplated on my non-uselessness, Myr yawned and relaxed more into the chair, staring dully at the ceiling.

Then we both leapt to our feet, because the alarms went off. I eyed Myr wryly when he took a pistol out of the waistband of his jeans and cocked it.

"On the table, Commander, now," he ordered.

I held my ground. "You can't shoot me," I reminded him. If he thought I was going to be compliant and pleasant, he was deluded.

Emmett was here and I'd be fucking damned if he was going to find me playing the submissive captive.

Myr lifted his gun with both hands and aimed at me. "You'll recover," he said.

I paused for a moment. He pulled the trigger and I moved away like lightening, cursing.

"On the table _now_, Commander!" he barked. I stared at him, but I was going to get shot again and that was not going to help anyone, so I finally obeyed. By now I could distinguish the cries, shouts and the pouring sound of gunshots in the building.

I lay on the table feeling like a fucking Charles Dickens character. I swear some of those little shits had more luck than I had had in the last several days, and let me tell you that is not a happy comparison. Reading Charles Dickens is like listening to Coldplay music with a razor in your hand after your girlfriend dumped you. It's just tempting destiny.

Myr gestured at me with the gun and I briefly considered asking him if he knew how to use that shit. I didn't need to be shot on accident. But then I figured, considering previous experiences, that _that _was sure to get me shot, and as I was in the business of _not_ getting shot at the moment, I shut the fuck up.

Hey, what do you know? My rationality is here. Welcome back, brother!

"Tie yourself up, Commander."

I sighed in irritation, but sat up and used my right hand to tie my left. It was difficult and awkward because I'd never used the leather restrictions before, and I couldn't use both my hands, but in the end I did manage. I guess I ought to be proud of my dexterity, but unsurprisingly, I wasn't.

Once I was done with my left hand, Myr came closer. "Lie down," he said.

He was going to tie my right hand. I considered just lying around and letting myself be rescued, seeing as I was wounded and weak, but I just couldn't do it. It was beyond me. When he came close enough to use his right hand on the leather around my wrist, I did the only thing I could think of—the stupidest thing to do.

Because I'm a fucking _imbecile_!

I grabbed the pistol by the barrel, thrust it up and cursed when the shot came out and burned the skin of my hand. I kicked my left leg up and cracked my boot against his temple, making him crumble to the ground. Sadly, what would have otherwise been a genius move became the fucking most retarded thing I could ever do—because I lost my balance on the table and almost fell on top of Myr, but my left hand was strapped to the table. My whole body weight pulled on the restrained arm and thrust the shoulder right out of place again.

I cried loudly, and the table toppled over on its side, hitting Myr—thankfully, some luck at last—on the back of the head. I crouched down and tried desperately to untie my wrist as my mind started working on blocking out the pain of the freshly re-broken shoulder.

Then the solders came in to check what the fuck was going on, and started yelling at me. One of them grabbed me by the hair and made me stand. My shoulder pulled again and I yelled. That disconcerted him and I took the opportunity to thrust my knee between his legs. He toppled over and I rammed my knee up again, against his nose. There was a sickening noise and I knew I'd stuck it inside his skull. He lost consciousness and I grabbed his rifle. The other soldier was reacting when I whirled around and shot him three times.

Now if only I managed to untie my useless arm from the table and get myself the fuck out of this room, I'd be good.

Of course, I couldn't be that lucky just yet, so more soldiers poured in, aiming their guns at me. By this point you can imagine I had had quite enough of having guns aimed at me and being shot at, so I just looked at them dully, crouching down. There was nothing I could do. They got me again and I was going to have to live with it.

Live with it for exactly three seconds, apparently. The soldiers that were in the hallway got massacred by several rounds of rifle ammo and I took the chance to shoot at those closest to me. When the captors were finally dead and gone, someone stepped into the room.

"United States Navy Commander Edward Masen?" the soldier asked with a flowing English accent. Sometimes I wonder why people feel the need to pronounce all your titles and shit when they want to confirm who you are.

"What's left of him," I nodded.

The man rushed closer and crouched next to me, untying my arm. Other English soldiers streamed inside, at least five and more stayed in the hallway. The commander ordered one of his men to get Myr's coat for me.

"What's the full extent of your wounds?"

"Broken and shot shoulder, broken rib, several cuts and stabs to the thighs."

"Can you walk?"

"Get me out of here and I'll dance," I grinned at him. He nodded grimly and one of the soldiers helped me put the coat on.

"Do you have a plan?" I asked him.

"No, but we have enough men to compensate," he said. He shrugged. "We didn't have much time to plan your rescue, see. Commander Swan was breathing down out necks the whole time."

I stopped at that one. "Commander _Swan_?" I repeated, and he nodded quickly, grabbing my good arm to guide me forwards.

"She acted as bait to get you out, but you can ask her all about it later. Now we need you to move, son."

I was so out of it, it didn't even register that he had just called me son and I hated that. Bella, here? Bait? What the fuck…?

We came out into the hall and the Commander started guiding us at a quick pace down the corridor. I wasn't shocked it was the English Army rescuing me as I had already assumed that there was inter-army cooperation. I was shocked to see they were all English—no trace of American soldiers at all. I had expected a mixed task force. Or an entirely American Marine corps team. Certainly not a division of the British Army. What had Carlisle done?

No… this wasn't Carlisle. It couldn't be him. He didn't have enough influence to mobilize the Army. This had to have been Bella. An MI6 agent had much more influence on tactical decisions than a simple Army medic.

I allowed the English soldiers to surround me and protect me because honestly—what else was I going to do? Demand to be taken to their leader?

We were moving down a corridor when we came to a turn. The soldier in the front peeped carefully and was received by several rounds of ammo that missed him by an inch.

"Ah, blocked, sir," He said calmly.

The Commander nodded. "Throw them a light grenade. Mr. Masen, close your eyes and face the wall. Johnson, cover him; you and Timwell stay with him at all times."

I crouched down and did as he told me, leaning my forehead against the ground. Johnson kept his hand on my good shoulder, leaning towards me.

Now usually, when one uses a hand light grenade to wound the enemy's retina, it's to have an advantage. When the enemy is blinded, you just wipe the floor with them—but this particular enemy was apparently better trained than we though. In the five-second pause between when it was released and the moment it exploded, the enemy soldiers came barreling into the corridor we were all crouching at. The English Commander demonstrated the calm his kind is known for and simply shot at the closest asshole without even lifting an eyebrow. His team followed suit as Timwell and Johnson kept me down and covered. I had to admit they had an amazing reaction time, nothing compared to the regular soldiers.

"Are you with the British Army?" I asked, confused.

Timwell shook his head. "We're MI6 task-force." He shrugged. "You were complicated."

"Where's Swan?"

He shrugged again. "Around, being the merciless Valkyrie that she's been known to be upon occasion. I swear the girl is scary," he said to Johnson, who nodded along.

I was beginning to agree to that. Who the hell _was _Bella Swan?

We started moving again, and came up to a wide room. I realized we were probably underground when I saw the huge stairs on the other side of the room. Unfortunately, there was a group of enemy soldiers bunkered behind piles of rubble right in our way. We joined a larger group of MI6 soldiers taking cover behind a row of upturned metal desks and I crouched down and took a quick look at my broken shoulder. It was bleeding again, but not too bad. I'd just pulled on the scabbing of the shot wound and tore it open. The pain was slight in comparison to the things I'd gone through lately, anyway—which is really pathetic if you ask me. I realized my shoulder wasn't broken, just sprained. I could move my arm—it hurt like a motherfucker, but it was functional and I liked that.

A door on the side wall of the vast hall burst open with a grenade and Timwell made me duck lower. I reached out and grabbed the Commander by the arm.

"Give me a rifle."

"I hoped you'd ask," he said, smiling, and gestured to one of the soldiers. The man unhooked a large black case from his backpack and handed it to me.

"I got a little Intel on you," the Commander grinned, opening the case.

I grinned back and pulled the sniper rifle from the case, putting it together in record time. I rested it on one of the metal desks and aimed. I never missed a shot, and with a high precision weapon, my hit average was 99%. I was locking on a new target when someone crouched down by my side and I glanced at them.

"Bait? I'm going to slap you," I growled at her.

She still had the same clothes from the last time I'd seen her, but her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her right cheekbone was bruised, her lip was broken and the cut on her forehead had reopened, covering her face in blood and grime from the grenade's explosion. She had my pistol in the right hand, and I heard her exchange the empty clip for a new one as I took the next few shots.

"I missed you too," she said.

"Tell me you have a plan," I retorted.

"Well, it goes along these lines; get you out of here, get you in the helicopter, and get you home."

I turned to glare murderously at her. "You're a fucking madwoman, Bella."

She stared at me, as if she was seeing me again for the first time in years and she couldn't quite recognize me. Then she cocked the pistol, turned and started shooting at the enemy, and I fell in love all over again, because I never knew her. I'd been the fragile one all along.

That thought irked me when my pride kicked in, so I returned to my sniping. Within two minutes we were done and moving again. I slung the rifle over my shoulder, because sniper rifles aren't exactly easy to maneuver when you move. I was determined to not slow the group down.

"Where are Emmett and the rest?" I asked her when we stopped again as we came up to another group of soldiers. How many fucking soldiers _were there_ here?

"In London under custody," she answered, using the hem of her shirt to wipe the blood off of her eyes. "This wasn't a joint operation. We came on our own because your people take too long to decide."

"Well, I'm sorry you dislike democracy."

"I find the term rather debatable," she answered without missing a beat, and for the first time I recognized a very slight London accent to her tone.

"Was anything you ever told me true?"I asked quietly.

She looked at me evenly. "I never lied to you, Edward. I just didn't tell you everything."

"Well, that makes me feel that much better."

She was going to reply to that—and it wasn't going to be nice, judging by her look—when the hallway behind us was flooded by enemy soldiers. Bella lifted her gun and started shooting with an ease and a lack of shyness that belittled her statement of 'I can use it but I don't like it' that she'd given me in the forests days ago when I gave her my pistol.

Oh, wait, she'd lied about that. I would absolutely call her up on that, just not right now.

I couldn't use the sniper rifle here, so I flattened myself against the wall and attempted to stay as out of the way as humanly possible. When that situation was under control, we started going back down the hallway towards the next set of stairs. Bella was busy replacing the clip that one of the MI6 soldiers had given her, and she wasn't looking where she was walking.

I learned then that MI6 or whatever, she was still my Bella—she tripped and fell. The clip skittered away and hit against the wall, a few feet from us.

"Amazing," I said, towering over her. She got to her knees and I offered her my hand, and then something collided against my right side, and pain blinded me. I fell to the ground, crying, and squirmed on my back, trying to analyze where the pain came from.

The rib. The fucking _rib_. I'd felt the snap and I knew where the pain was coming from as my entire thorax began to ache maddeningly.

Collapsed lung.

A man kneeled over me and I looked up dazedly.

James fucking Adler.

I shot my right arm up violently and thrust the heel of my hand against his nose, breaking it easily. He tried to move away from me, but by this point I'd become a murderous mass of injured soldier and he didn't go anywhere because I caught his throat with my hand. He clawed at my fingers, and I tightened my vice-like grip.

You're going nowhere, your fucking son of a bitch.

He shifted suddenly and I didn't realize what he was doing until it was too late. He sent his knee against my stomach with all his force. I cried and turned to my left side, curling around the area. James got to his feet, and I eyed him as he reached for the gun in his belt.

"Keeping you alive wasn't part of what I agreed to," he said viciously.

And then four shots went into him in quick succession. The incredulous expression on his face as he fell was priceless, but I didn't have time to gloat in it because I had to get to my knees and get out of here before the air filled my thorax completely and pressed down on my one working lung, asphyxiating me.

I'm proud to say I was thinking very clearly. Bella was still aiming at where James had been standing when I came to my knees and staggered to my feet. Timwell and Johnson came to our aid after seemingly missing my pleasurable presence, and then we were running like bats out of hell and I had no fucking idea what was going on around me anymore.

The light of day when we abruptly came out of the building blinded me and I tripped, but Johnson caught my arm and held me steady, forcing me to keep moving. I looked around, dazed.

Four assault black helicopters with no markings on them, not even serial codes, hovered in the sky around us. One more had handed in the yard before the bunker. I became aware that we were nowhere near the city, but rather in a wide uncluttered area in the country. In the yard where the helicopter had landed there were two tanks parked, next to the smoldering leftovers of three more that had received the kind salute of the missiles in the stub wings.

I looked around for Bella as Johnson nearly dragged me to the grounded helicopter. The noise of the five combined rotors coupled with the shooting and the screaming made my head spin. I located Bella running ahead of us with the Commander.

As I watched, a bullet reached her hip. She stumbled in her step and the Commander immediately slipped his arm around her waist and brought her close, nearly carrying her to the helicopter. I was frantic to get to her, see if she was alright, but Johnson's grip was tight on my arm.

My vision was blurring. I couldn't breathe. I collapsed on the floor of the helicopter on my back, panting desperately. I could see Bella lying on her side on the ground nearby, looking at her hip. Her face was pale and drawn in pain, but when one of the medics tried to see her she immediately waved him over to me.

"You alright?" I wheezed as the medics ripped the coat open and tried to determine what the problem with my lungs was. It took them less than a second to identify the broken rib.

I realized I was slipping into shock.

I saw the Commander gather Bella up in his arms and press gauze to her hip over the jeans as she kept staring at me. She blinked and a couple of tears rolled down her cheeks. I knew what she was feeling; I was done too. I didn't even want to play strong anymore, not even for myself _or_ for her. And I knew I was being a selfish bastard, but my body was numb and I couldn't breathe and my eyes tried to roll up into my head, though I fought it.

The Commander patted Bella's hair gently, turning her face away from me even as he kept staring straight at where he medics fussed around me.

Then one of the doctors turned my head up and carefully but firmly opened my mouth, and I decided I didn't want to be around for the rest, so I let the blackness swallow me.


	15. Morning Sunshine

**Chapter 15****. Morning Sunshine**

**/Edward/**

Maybe I should have died.

_Everything__. hurt_.

My eyes wouldn't open just yet. They weighted a ton and a half each. But my senses were beginning to return to me.

Because life is a bitch and God hates me, tact came back first.

_Jesus fucking Christ_.

Who probably hated me too. Hell, everyone and everything hated me. I bet they had their own little fucking 'hate Edward Masen' fan clubs. I bet they fucking high fived each other whenever they found a way to make me miserable. The little shits.

Okay, so I wasn't especially coherent just yet.

I could recognize a buzz when I felt one. I was drugged. They'd drugged me all the way up to Heaven, down to Hell and back. I wondered what the fuck they'd given me because my brain was fuzzy, my eyes wouldn't function but I was still in a whole _fucking lot of pain_.

Who was attending me? A med school rookie? Fucking _Christ_. Give me the Vicodin shot, I'll inject _myself_. Did the rookie hate me too? Ooh, I bet they'd paid him. Fucking 'hate Edward Masen' fan clubs. I wondered if they got their funds making me miserable somehow. That would be a laugh.

God, I needed a shrink. _ASAP!_

What drug did they give me again?

Hearing came to me then, and I became aware of voices around me. Voices with English accents.

_Bullocks_.

I would have snickered if I could have. That cracked me up every time.

Geeze, I hoped this drug didn't last very long.

"…very lucky. I just don't understand it. Why do you reckon they kept him alive?"

There was an exasperated sigh. "I don't _know_, Maurice!" Carlisle? Carlisle! Oooh…an _irritated _Carlisle. He'd lost his temper. Carlisle _never _looses his temper. _Great!_ The world was over. I mean '_Apocalypse Now_' kind of over. Some God in some astral plane was going to kill us all for upsetting Carlisle Cullen.

Ah, shit. I didn't even have anything to do with it this time! _C'mon!_

"I would say they were keeping him as a sex toy, but he tends to _bite_, so I highly _doubt_ it!" Oh, God. He was _seething_. I'd only heard him talk like that once, and it was at me. I was so happy it wasn't at me this time. Carlisle Cullen furious was a sight to behold.

There was a long pause of silence. "Alright," Maurice (whoever the fuck Maurice was) said carefully. "I recognize a man's limit when I see it. I'll leave you to your friend and come back in a few hours."

Carlisle sighed. "And bring coffee with you, please. And aspirin."

"Coffee _and_ aspirin?"

"_Maurice_…"

"Got it. Caffeine for you blood stream, coming right up."

Carlisle on caffeine? _Not_ a good idea. I ought to speak up and spare England a moody Carlisle Cullen, but really, who the fuck cared about England?

Oh, wait. Those guys who saved me were English, right? Or should I say blokes? Those blokes who saved me?

_Bullocks_. _Bloody hell_.

Man, I wish I could snicker. I'm such a bloody asshole.

"I think he's coming about, Carlisle."

I was, and I wasn't sure I was very happy about it. My throat was constricted. I remembered my throat to be constricted quite a lot as of late, just not 'something shoved down my windpipe' kind of constricted.

"Edward?" Carlisle's soft voice asked tentatively, closer this time. I felt his hand on my forehead and forced my eyes open a crack. Still, it was enough to be fucking _blinded_ by the daylight in the white room.

Fuck. Stop the world. I want to get off.

I must have winced, because Carlisle pushed the hair off of my forehead again, carefully. "Close the curtains, please," he ordered at whoever was with him in this room. God bless you, mystery person. Or should I say, may the Queen guard you?

I couldn't snicker because there was a _tube down my windpipe_. I wondered if I could growl.

I tried.

Nope. No growling.

I could grunt rather decently, though.

Ah, now_ that_ was a lovely grunt.

Now that I thought about it though, what exactly _is_ the difference between a grunt and groan? _Was_ there any difference?

Was the drug they'd given me even legal?

"Edward, we were forced to tube you when your right lung collapsed in the helicopter. You went into shock shortly thereafter, and have been in a drug induced coma for the past two weeks while your body healed. You underwent four major surgeries while you slept, and we reconstructed both your lung and your rib."

I opened my eyes again, though narrowed, and looked at him.

Jesus Christ. I was a punching bag with a sad story. I felt like I'd been put through a meat mixer and stitched back together. I briefly wondered if they'd put all the parts back in the right places. I sure felt like fucking shit.

I didn't even want to think about the time I'd lost, or I would lose my mind. I'd go about that later.

Carlisle looked half dead. He looked like a vampire, really. I think his skin was lighter than his hair. _Whose_ lung had collapsed, again?

"Do you want me to take the tube out?"

_Please_. I want to snicker at your stupid fucking _accent_.

I blinked, and hoped he took that for a yes.

He turned and did something with his right hand and one (of the many) noises in the room stopped. He turned back to me and gently grasped the tube. "I'm going to pull out very gently, and I want you to cough to help me. Understand?"

I'm hurt, not an imbecile. Did I sustain brain damage at some point on our little epic adventure, something I wasn't aware of?

Why was I sharking at Carlisle? Did I _want_ some god to strike me down?

I blinked.

Ugh, it was the ugliest sensation I'd ever felt. It was like solid, slippery, warm bile sliding up my throat from my lungs. I coughed, gagged, retched, coughed some more, and finally the end came out and I gagged again, loudly.

Carlisle hastily handed me a cup of water with a straw. My throat ached so hard I barely managed to swallow, but he insisted. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but if I couldn't swallow, I couldn't speak. I finally finished the water and let my head roll back against the pillow.

"Where are we?" I rasped out.

"_Royal Haslar_ Military Hospital in Gosport, Hampshire. The best Shock Unit in England," he said, checking some monitor, probably to see if I was about to go into cardiac arrest and die on him right now. That would so fit the little shit that I am.

"England," I repeated, blinking. After two weeks? Why hadn't I been transferred to the US yet?

Carlisle gave me a steady look. "You are under protection of the MI6, Edward."

"Huh?" Oh, brilliant, Edward. Maybe I ought to reconsider the brain damage thing.

"After I left, I spoke to the Commander in Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service. He debriefed me very thoroughly, and I could hardly hide anything from him—"

"Way to go, Carlisle. Remind me never to tell you anything that might turn into gossip," I snapped at him.

You can't trust the fucking British, man. They can't keep secrets.

"Would you keep your mouth shut? I am trying to explain to you," he fumed.

Oh wow. He just might jump at my jugular. I better shut up or have my tongue amputated. Seriously. I was sure there were scalpels somewhere in this room.

But he sighed and rubbed his forehead. _Where is that aspirin, Maurice? Wait, who the fuck is Maurice? And why did they name him Maurice? I mean woman… just get an abortion. No need to torture your kid for the rest of his sorry life._

"Edward, you are not well." _No shit. You can say __**that**__ again_." You need to sleep more, now that you're breathing on your own. I'll talk to you later, when the effect of the drug has passed."

"You alright?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

He chuckled. "No. No, I'm not." He laughed breathlessly. "You have no idea how close you were to dying, son."

_Son_.

No, Carlisle, I'm not your—

Whatever. I so could not deal with this right now. If he needed to have a son, then so be it.

"Sorry. It's okay now. I'm not going anywhere. Go home. Get some sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

"It's morning now."

"Whatever, fuck. Just go, will you?" I sighed. "Esme must miss you."

"Oh, she's asleep."

"How the fuck do you know?" I said, exasperated. He could be so dense, sometimes.

"She's in that bed." He gestured behind me and I turned my head to look.

Sure thing, Esme was curled on her side covered in a blanket, deeply asleep.

Fuck me.

I sighed. "Go on, Carlisle. Get some sleep. You look only slightly better than me. And that ain't a compliment, man."

Carlisle chuckled. "I will, as soon as my shift ends."

"You go on home, Doc," I sighed again, closing my eyes.

The sliding doors opened again, and I lifted my head.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I protested.

"Babysitting obviously," Jasper answered, coming over to my bed. His right arm was in a sling. "I'm not sure whether I'm glad you can talk, but welcome back to the world of the living."

"Thanks, I guess," I said. "It ain't good to be back at all."

"Quit being a whiny bitch, will ya? I've had to endure four weeks of tea and rain to be here to witness your grand entrance to the realm of consciousness." He dragged a chair and plopped down into it, grinning at me. "I missed ya, man."

I grinned back. "Thanks, Jazz," I said quietly. "It's good to have you around."

"So how do you feel?"

"Like a whipped bitch, honestly." I sighed. "Half of me is numb, and the other part wishes it was."

"I like the numb part better at the moment," Jazz laughed.

Carlisle shrugged off his white coat and climbed into the bed behind Esme, hugging her and covering himself with the blanket as well.

"Cullen, go home," I sighed, eyeing him evenly.

"Masen—shut up," Carlisle whispered, settling down and falling asleep quickly.

"Well, look at that," Jazz mused with a smile. "The good doc's patience did have a limit after all."

"I suppose that if it had a limit, I would have reached it by now." I agreed, resting my head back on the pillow. "Hey Jazz, what happened to you and the rest after we split?"

"We did just like you told us, Commander, sir." Jazz laughed quietly. "We went to the city and found a relatively safe spot in the residential area. When it was time, we contacted the Pentagon and talked to Admiral Thrower. He said we had a traitor, insisted we call directly to the Forks and speak on the safe-line. We were good and safe where we were when we got that radio message from you—the one about Adler?" he huffed.

"Fucking son of a bitch, I'm exceptionally glad he's dead. I can't believe he did this to you. Anyway, after that it was all frantic. When we called him the next morning, Admiral Thrower said you wanted to wait two more days, but just in case we should call him that afternoon. When we did, he said Bella had called him and you'd been captured. We needed to be out of the picture immediately so they could focus on you, but the Admiral can't make any rush decisions without beaurocratic torture, and by that night he still hadn't gotten an approval for the mission. We waited for two more days, thinking maybe you just got delayed—and the morning of the third day Bella lost her patience and blew her cover. She spoke directly to the MI6, got them on the move."

He got up to grab a glass of water and drank a few sips before walking idly around the room, his voice quiet and calm.

"Thing was, we didn't know where you were. Bella had the MI6 find us and Emmett quietly—they just showed up with jeeps and took us to the heliport outside the city and we were gone, just like that." He snapped his fingers.

"Once we were safe and out of the way, the MI6 came up with a plan to find you. They knew the enemy wanted Bella, so she would be the bait. She would allow herself to be captured and be taken to the detention center they had you in. They were tracing her with a GPS, and the moment she came into that compound, the mission launched."

"How long was I captured, then?" I asked, riveted by his account.

"A week, give or take," he said, looking at me. "It was hell, Edward. Not knowing if you were alive, or what they were doing to you? Fuck, man. Emmett didn't sleep, didn't eat. He yelled at everyone to get to go and get you out himself, but the MI6 kept shooting him down. Rose just couldn't contain him, and she threatened everyone with bloody murder unless they let her come along, but there was no convincing them. Alice kept telling us Bella was certain you were still alive, and she knew everything was going to be fine—but Emmett couldn't believe her, you know? You're like his little brother, and he was just stuck here, feeling helpless and useless. It did a number on him. Carlisle was nearly catatonic." He glanced at the medic sleeping with his wife and smiled affectionately. "He kept murmuring, '_I left him there_'. Well, I'm not gonna tell you how I was, but Edward—don't ever do that to me again, man."

I sighed. "I didn't do it on purpose. But I'll make sure not to repeat the experience."

Jasper sat back on the chair, leaning forward. "You will?" he asked teasingly.

"Yeah."

I paused. "I'm dropping out of the Navy, Jazz."

He grinned widely. "Yeah. Me too. It's just not my thing. I saved some money, and Alice has some saved up too. She wants to help me, so… I'm leaving as soon as this whole shit is wrapped up."

I smiled. "You never did quite fit in."

"Nah. It was a desperate measure at a desperate time." He got up and patted my hand calmly. "I'm just glad to say we all came out of it alive, Edward."

"Newton and the rest?" I asked, suddenly remembering what the Admiral had said on that phone call.

"Yeah, they're fine. They just didn't make it to the city, so the MI6 picked them up at the river."

I sighed in relief.

"You gotta sleep, Edward. You're whiter than the sheets."

I nodded at him, though I was only humoring him. Eventually, though, I did fall asleep.

When I came about next, it was darker in the room, signaling nightfall. I blinked and breathed deeply, looking around. There was a light on in the room and I looked that way.

Bella was curled up in one of the chairs, covered with a blanket, reading a book under the harsh yellow light of the standing lamp at her side. She gazed at me with a calm that was contagious. Her lip had a butterfly stitch on it, there was a large square of pristine white gauze over her forehead and her right cheekbone was a deep purple.

She looked like shit. She was beautiful.

I'm hopeless.

"Hey there, _Commander Swan_," I said, my voice rough. I could feel this new cold anger that was available to me, freezing the blood in my veins and growing quickly, becoming lethal. She should have waited longer to come see me.

She sighed, closing the book. "Oh. So we're going to do _this_ now," she said.

"You fucking lied to me," I accused.

"I never lied," she hissed, leaping to her feet. The blanket fell to the linoleum with a quiet whisper.

"I'm from Phoenix, my father is a police chief, my name is Bella Swan, I'm a photographer—these things are true! I _never_ lied to you!"

"You think you could have thrown in there somewhere that you were with the MI6?" I said viciously.

"To what point and purpose?" she demanded coldly. "What good would it have done for you to know?"

"I was tortured because of your fucking little secrets! They asked me things I didn't even know!"

"They knew who I was, that wouldn't have bought you any time at—"

"I was the only motherfucker who didn't know, huh?" I let loose a dry laugh. "What a joke."

"I didn't want this to happen. You know that," she said firmly.

"Do you want to know what he did?" I asked conversationally, tilting my head. "He used a knife. You want to see the scars?"

"I know them by heart," she responded calmly, her eyes ablaze. "Each and every one of them. I've seen the ones _you_ haven't seen yet, so don't come to me saying that I don't know what you went through."

"Oh! You were tortured too, were you?" I jeered maliciously.

"Oh, what are you gonna do about _this_ shit!?" she demanded, throwing up her hands. She pinned me with a glare. "Cry and wallow in it for the _next_ ten years? Is that what you want? A new reason to become a numb asshole? Because if that's what you're looking for, then I have no fucking idea who you are!"

I froze, my breathing coming quicker. My heart rate had elevated significantly—I could hear the fucking beeps from a nearby monitor. She was just as frozen, eyes wide.

"I won't take that back," she said quietly.

I shook my head. "Just—leave me alone, Bella. I don't want to see you." I closed my eyes and rested my head back on the pillow.

I heard her steps as she came closer to the bed and opened my eyes again to glare at her.

"You'll have to make me believe that one first," she said calmly. "Because if those were the only words you could come up with—the words of a scared little boy who's just too much of a fucking coward to face things head on—then you're stuck with me. I'm not going anywhere until I'm convinced you're not worth my time."

I swallowed. I was fucking furious. I wanted to tell her everything Myr had done to me, from pulling my hair to stabbing my thighs, and I wanted to see her flinch because of it. I wanted to use the crudest language I could think of—and that is something to say, let me tell you. I wanted to _hurt_ her.

I wanted to reach for her and bring her close and lean my head on her chest and let her hold me. I wanted her to stroke my hair and kiss my temple and tell me it would be alright, that it was over, that she had me. I wanted her to sit in the bed with me and read to me and just _be_ there _with_ me. I wanted to ask a number of fucking stupid questions—her favorite color, favorite book, and favorite food, what music she liked, if she preferred her wine red or white and if she liked pink salmon in her sushi rather than tuna.

I kept watching her and I hated her and I loved her, and as I looked at her I realized I loved her more than I hated her.

And then I realized I was old enough to tell the difference. I didn't hate her—I was angry with her, and rightfully so. But that anger didn't turn into hate. If I started thinking like that, we would be tangled in this fucked up relationship full of things we didn't say to each other and feelings we hid and that just fed this big fucking gap between us—and I didn't want that. I wanted a healthy, loving relationship and I knew I could have it with her, if only I just let it happen. If only I managed not to burn the bridges, I could get to her.

She'd lied. So had I. The difference was, I'd done it for ten years and she'd only done it for ten days.

It was a big fat fucking difference.

"I love you," I told her. There was no grand gesture, no amazing demonstration of undying love. It was the truth, pure, simple, undiluted truth. What little I knew of the real Bella, hidden behind layers of lies, I knew well—she loved the truth. And I would give her that, if it was the only thing I could ever give her.

"I know," she said gently.

"You _know_?" I shot my head up, bewildered.

She smiled. "That evening on the third floor? I asked you about the family and you said you didn't know. You called me 'love'."

"You didn't say anything." I was incredulous. I couldn't remember that detail at all—had I really slipped like that?

"I didn't want to scare you."

"I'm not scared," I said automatically, and paused. "No. Maybe—yes. I am scared."

"Do you think I'll hurt you?" she asked calmly, gazing at me with her velvety chocolate eyes, so beautiful, so calm, that I ached to touch her. She was too far away, and I couldn't reach her. My throat constricted at her distance. I wanted to ask her to come closer, but I wanted even more for her to move closer on her own. Because she wanted to be closer to me.

I shook my head. "I'm just—scared. I've been so numb for so long. And then, fuck, Bella—you _crashed_ into my life and I have no fucking clue how to deal with all this shit. What do you want from me? You want me to walk down the street holding hands and buy you chocolates for Valentines? Shit. That is twisted."

Then again my vision of twisted may be a little biased. I ought to re-examine it.

Make a comparison. Myr stabbing my thigh versus holding hands. _Right_. It wasn't twisted at all. I think I could even negotiate walking hugs.

And then I registered that I've been talking a lot more than she had. I snapped my eyes to hers. "Please tell me you like me," I nearly begged.

She cocked an eyebrow. "You need me to _tell_ you I'm in love with you? You're one stone-skulled son of a bitch, Edward. I've always loved you. Or do you think I sleep with just about any regular traumatized guy I come across?" she teased.

I laughed because I was almost light-headed. Oh, God. She _loved_ me. It felt so natural it didn't even surprise me, it just relieved me. No more doubts and hesitation—she loved me. I didn't need to pin-prick like a pussy around her. _She_ knew me. And she loved me.

I know, I know—I just kept repeating it in my head like the pussy I am.

"Wait! Then why the _fuck _did you lie to me?" I demanded.

She pinched her nose, sighing. "Christ. I'm gonna need a freakin' compass to deal with all these mood swings."

She looked at me evenly. "Edward, I will explain to you. I'll explain everything, just like I promised. But right now, you need rest. I already worked you up more than I should have. I'm not going anywhere, you can sleep and I'll be back to talk to you."

"What about the Witness Protection Program?" I drawled.

She paused. "Okay, so that _was_ a lie" she conceded, tilting her head.

"Ha! Caught you, bitch!" I gloated, grinning. I am such an asshole, I surprise myself sometimes. I'm sure I surprise everyone else too, but it's more important to keep oneself on edge.

"Shut up. I can poke you in places that will make you cry like a kid, Masen."

I laughed. "Come here and give me a kiss."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Edward, dear—there's only one place on your body that isn't either black or blue, and it's your balls. Let's keep them that way until you can act on your promises, hmm?"

Aw, _fuck_. Now I was aroused.

Yup, this was my Bella. This was the girl I loved.

I was doomed.

She sensed my mood and laughed quietly, finally coming close enough to hug me carefully and stroke my hair. I relaxed into her side, sighing.

"Lie here with me," I asked her gently.

She sighed. "I'm going to buy you a teddy bear and pour my perfume on it. Then you'll be able to sleep without actually clutching to me for dear life."

"Make it a plushy with boobs, otherwise I won't fall for it," I drawled. She slapped my good arm, but I flinched dramatically anyway.

"Besides, you like me wanting you," I teased. Her laugh was like balsam, relaxing my shoulders and my heart. Just being near her, I was fine.

I was still broken and hurt and fractured in all the necessary joints. But, I looked at it this way—I was at the rock bottom of the precipice.

The only way from here was up, and my incentive was a very attractive one.

On the top was Bella. And a chance at a happy, healthy life.

Cue in pink screen and a flashy handwriting for 'The End.'

I am such a fucking pussy.


	16. Epilogue: Club Hotel Hualum

**Epilogue. ****Club Hotel Hualum**

**/Edward/**

Emmet slammed his shot glass against the table. Mine followed less than a second later. Jazz coughed into his hand.

"Pussy," Emmett said, teasing, laughing between his teeth.

I swallowed again, because Emmett said that a 'real Latin macho' didn't use that shit of salt and lemon with his tequila shots, and I was determined to outdo him. I had argued that we were far, _far_ from being anything remotely _similar_ to Latin machos (especially lanky, tall, pale as a sheet and blonde as Richie Rich Jasper), but he was dead set on his 'when you're in Rome, act like the Romans' philosophy.

I sat back on my chair and closed my eyes, reveling in the cool summer night breeze as I listened to the music coming from the hotel behind us. It was a song by Café Quijano called '_La Lola_', and it had an amazing, infectious rhythm. It was a modern, fast kind of salsa with lyrics that were nearly poetry. Good Latin music is rather incomparable when it comes to dancing.

I turned to look behind me to the wooden platform the hotel had set outside in the huge gardens at the foot of the mountains, acting as a dance floor.

I saw Bella swaying sensually to the music with Alice, twirling one another smoothly as Rose stood by to tie her hair in a messy bun. I couldn't blame her—I was sitting down quietly and I was sweating plenty.

"Dude, you are a girl. You can't hold liquor for shit, man." Emmett shook his head unbelievingly at Jasper.

"Man it's like the ninth shot you've made me swallow—would you give it a rest?" Jasper's words slurred somewhat. He really didn't deal very well with alcohol. I'd taken two beers, a measure of Emmett's 'Johnnie Walker, Black Label, no ice' and nine shots of tequila and I was only feeling slightly buzzed. Then again, I'll readily admit I am a fucking sponge. What do you think I did for two years before joining the navy?

Sitting around and drinking? Then you are correct.

"If you can argue, then you're not drunk enough," Emmet declared, and poured more of the Jose Cuervo into the shot glass. I downed mine quickly and without hesitation, eyeing Bella on the dance floor.

I glanced at Carlisle and Esme at a nearby table. Esme was asleep on his shoulder. I had no idea how much Carlisle had drunk but if what was piled up on the table between him and his Argentinean friend was any indication, he'd be having a bad day tomorrow. Carlisle plus a hangover? That could be interesting. Carlisle _buzzed_ was certainly funny—he quoted Shakespeare. I kid you not. Of course, I'd embarked on a quote fight with him when I first discovered that. Incredibly enough, buzzed and all, he outdid me. We downed half a bottle of vodka under Esme's and Bella's arched eyebrows.

The song ended and another one started; 'Smooth', by Carlos Santana. I liked this song, so I poured myself another shot, threw it down and stood. The quick movement made me sway slightly, but I steadied myself easily and made my way to the platform. My balance was unaffected as of yet, though I could feel a huge headache right at the river-bend.

I hopped onto the platform and slid my arm around Bella's waist, bringing her flush against my front. She smiled, perfectly attuned to my touch and my frame and knew it was me immediately. She'd swallowed her share of alcohol this evening—the only reason she had dared to come onto the dance floor—and she'd lost quite a bit of her usual inhibitions.

My button-up shirt stuck to my back; it wasn't visibly wet yet but I was making my way towards that as I swayed with Bella. She brought her hand up and reached back to wrap it around the nape of my neck, tilting her head to the side to invite my lips to her neck.

I kissed below the angle of her jaw, licking my way up to her ear and sucking the lobe between my teeth, pressing her back against me. She bit her bottom lip. I loved it when she did that, and I loved it more when she did it as a consequence of something I did to her. She was a quiet lover so I'd learned to read her body language carefully.

To be perfectly honest, I was the loud one. Sometimes I moaned, sometimes I grunted like an animal, but one thing I did every time was curse like a sailor on shore leave. She was just—_amazing_. I'd never felt so well complemented with another woman, so utterly complete.

She had some little tricks I'd never even heard about. When I asked, she just smirked. "I read a lot, Edward," she'd said.

Bella had only moved in with me two months ago, though we were well into the fourth year after the rescue mission. We hadn't been able to be together at all because of the public image. The photos she had taken and the information Alice had gathered had been a key element to the investigation the Interpol had started: involving the weaponry business in the civil war in that country. Not only had she been under incredibly tight security 24/7, but she also just couldn't have a public relationship with me.

Because a large portion of the weaponry sold to the soldiers on both sides of the war came from a medium sized weaponry manufacturer whose funds came from an investment company. But not just _any _company; it had come from Masen Industries.

The MI6 had latched onto the soldiers' reasons to preserve my life like a leech to raw skin. It didn't take them long to connect the dots.

For ten years, I'd hardly even read the financial reports that the company's accountant sent to me religiously on the 5th of every month. If I had read them more carefully, I would have noticed the anomalies. I'm no business expert—or at least I wasn't at the time, though after making the business career at Harvard in 35 months instead of the usual 4 years, I could say I now _was_—but even I would have noticed the discrepancy between the investments and the gains.

The Masen name owned 65% percent of the company. As the major associate, a huge part of the decisions had to go through me—but I hadn't wanted to know anything of the company, and instead had named Kate, my father's second-in-command, as my speaker. She made the decisions in my name, and then sent me the reports. That I _never read_. I feel the need to repeat that. And slam my head against something, additionally.

I'd actually tried to slam my fist against the table when I first learned of her dealings. However, one glower from Carlisle and I'd sat quiet and still. 'Please behave,' he'd said, pinching the bridge of his nose—I wondered if I'd copied that from him, or if it was the other way around. 'I have dinner with my mother and father-in-law at six. They hate it when I'm late. And I hate them—no need to add any logs to_ that_ fire,' he'd finished. _Too tired to be a diplomat, Carlisle? _

My negligence had enabled her to use the investment company on a weapons manufacturer that sold weapons illegally to the soldiers of both sides.

War is a business. And a good one at that.

As stealthily and smoothly as I possibly could, I slid back into the company and began to gather pieces of information for the MI6. Kate seemed to be convinced I didn't understand a thing that was going on, and I made my best impersonation of the ignorant, rich heir.

Of_ course_ they had needed me alive. Masen Industries was not the biggest supporter of the civil war, but it was an important asset, and I was the sole heir. A twenty-seven year old, single, childless Navy pilot with no written will. Upon the event of my death, everything returned to my father's will. His very explicitly dictated that should I leave no heirs behind, the entirety of the volume of gain rightfully mine would pass directly to Caritas, a world-wide foundation focusing on children's charities.

Charity foundations were _very_ careful of their accounts and where the money donated to them came from.

What _I_ easily overlooked would have gone under careful scrutiny unless some bribe was slipped under the radar—bribing a charity foundation accountant was next to impossible. If you work for them you obviously don't give a shit about money. It's like giving gold to a man in the desert and get a 'what the fuck?' look from him.

In the trials and investigations that followed the declaration to the Interpol, I had been in a storm of gossip and public scrutiny that I had most definitely not enjoyed. I'd kept very careful under the public eye while I was young, especially after my parents' deaths, and I was the shiny new toy. I hated it.

There had been speculation that I was involved in the whole matter. The MI6 had leapt to my defense immediately, god bless them, and had gathered tons of information that allowed the reasonable doubt.

I would never mock the English again. Well—not as a whole anyway. I'd still annoy the shit out of Carlisle for good sport, though.

Then, in came the psychological evaluations. If I hadn't liked the open discussion of my personal life, I certainly didn't enjoy the open _argument_ of my _mental stability_. To be fair, though, they said things that were true.

All throughout the duration of the trials—a full two years—I had moved in with Carlisle and Esme in their small country house in Washington State. They had finally decided to become foster parents to seven year old twins Matthew and Thomas, and Carlisle had asked to be grounded to the Washington Air Force base, so he could be closer to his family. The kids were currently spending a few weeks with Esme's parents.

Talking to Carlisle and Esme had become easy, natural even. But there were still things I felt I slammed against even if I tried to go past them, and with the speculation of my mental health provoked by the investigation, I decided the damage was done and I might as well get help.

Bella had stayed in London with Alice, though we'd talked nearly every night.

And now, here we were, with everything wrapped up and behind us. _Fina-fucking-lly._

It was the first year anniversary of Alice's and Jasper's small, simple wedding in Cancun, Mexico. I had offered to give them a trip to wherever they wanted as a present since I hadn't had the chance to give them and engagement or marriage gift due to the public situation. They, however, had counter proposed, and instead of an expensive trip around the world for the two of _them_, they had settled for me paying a two week stay in a small, intimate hotel where we could _all_ have fun together. I had been more than willing.

Which brought us to where we were right now.

Jasper and I had researched for months. In the end, we'd settled on a medium sized, stone walled hotel stuck in the middle of a valley called Los Molles, lost somewhere in Mendoza in Southern Argentina. It was really intimate and cozy, and the people there treated you like you were family just for being in their hotel. They specialized in adventure-tourism, which included rafting, trekking, scaling, horse-riding and other similar activities.

We'd gotten along so well with the guides and instructors that we had extended our stay for another two weeks, so we could be here for New Year's Eve.

Which was today.

I released Bella momentarily to grasp Rose's hand and twirl her. Rose had more confidence on the floor than Bella, and she was easy to dance with; fluid and very gifted. I liked dancing, I'd always liked it.

The song changed again, this time to a tango. I glanced at Bella but she had inconspicuously made her way off the platform as soon as she heard the tune. The girl had a ridiculous aversion to Tango—she argued it was like fucking in public.

Oh, alright, so it _was_ intimate. So _maybe_ the man was almost constantly positioned with his thigh between the woman's. So _maybe_ the woman wrapped her legs around him a lot. So _maybe_ some (most) of the feather light touches were meant to purposefully arouse.

I didn't see what was wrong with any of it, honestly. In the two months we'd lived together I could simply not comprehend how she had any kind of inhibitions left around me, I swear. We'd bent each other backwards, forwards, sideways and had done things that were illegal in _at least_ ten states, in rather public places—repeatedly. My favorite was a cinema—but I digress…

So as I slammed Rose's frame to mine, hard, hearing her tinkering laugh against my neck, Bella let herself fall on my chair next to Emmett.

And while Rose pulled at my hair playfully, Alice found herself a willing Argentinean to teach her the moves. Jasper was in no state to dance and even on his _best_ days, he looked like a flamenco fetus with a seizure when on the dance floor. Jasper's Intel Inside did _not_ admit dance programs.

Emmett, on the other hand, had his moves. He might not be the smoothest, but he just enjoyed himself so _much_ that no one noticed he couldn't really _dance_. He goofed around, laughed loudly and danced with just about everyone within reaching distance, which included Rose, Alice, Bella, me, and a number of innocent, anonymous passerby's. There was just no way of being bored when Emmett was around.

Carlisle and Esme were disgustingly cute to each other on the dance floor. I mean _come on_. We know you love each other forever and ever, yada yada, blah blah, _blaaah_.... No need to be syrupy sweet about it all the fucking time.

Even worse, I'd discovered Carlisle was a happy-go-lucky morning person. I was a morning person too—just not a _happy_ one. It was like he was overridden with joy to be awake at fucking _six thirty in the morning_. There was something off in that blonde head of his, I'm convinced. It gets worse—he feels the need to _spread_ his good humor. I can't handle joyous smiles at seven in the morning. I just can't. My brain shuts off, my eyebrows plummet down and I get nasty and it just gets ugly, ya know?

"Atta girl," Rose murmured looking over my shoulder. I spun her around sharply, following the music, and glanced at the table.

Bella slammed her shot glass on the table, looking smug. Emmett looked devilish. I could guess he had found his newest victim. Jasper was sitting back, head rolled back, staring at the stars as if a giant comet was heading this way to destroy us all and Bruce Willis was asleep and snoring off instead of on some spaceship saving our asses.

Embarking on a drinking contest with Bella was a bad idea. The woman could drink just as well as any average English with Scottish blood. Yes, Bella's mother was Scottish. Charlie and her had met when she visited the US as a tourist, fallen in love quickly, and fallen out of love just as quickly. Bella was born in Washington, spent her first fifteen years of life in London, then two in Arizona when Renee married baseball player Phil. At seventeen she moved with her dad to Washington, and then moved to Yale with Alice. And the rest, as they say, is history.

"Should we save our respective better-halves before one of them gets hurt?" Rose asked.

I laughed lightly and placed my hand on her thigh near her knee as she wrapped her leg around my hip. "I think I may be able to get Emmett out of that chair, without even leaving this platform," I said slyly.

"Oh?" Rose questioned, arching a fine blond eyebrow, clearly amused. "How, exactly?"

"Hmm. I'll figure something out." I grinned, slipping my hand down lower and bringing her closer. I leaned my head down near her neck, still grinning, not ever really wanting to kiss her. I swayed seductively.

And. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… _score_.

"Hey!" Emmett tapped my shoulder.

Rose and I burst out laughing, easily untangling from one another. Emmet grinned good-naturedly, recognizing we had played him, and I turned and left them dancing together.

I trotted over to Bella, placing a hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table, leaning over her shoulder. She was sitting sideways at the table, with one arm on it and her long legs crossed. I loved Bella's legs in skirts. I loved Bella's legs period. The skirt I liked—on the floor…

Hmm. What a nice idea. Very…_inspiring_…

I glanced at Jazz. "What do you think he's thinking?" I inquired.

"I doubt his thinking much," Bella grinned. "But my best guess is he's trying to make sure E.T. got home safely."

I grinned, holding in my laughter. I reached my hand and snapped my fingers close to Jazz's face. "Hey man, any Martians about to attack?"

He held my gaze evenly. "Nope," he said seriously. "It's _Pluto_."

Bella and I stared.

"Pluto?" Bella prodded, her lips curling.

"Yep!" He nodded solemnly. We waited. "It's revenge. Cause he's not a planet anymore," he said confidentially.

I licked my lips. "Oh. I see. Evil, _evil_ Pluto," I nodded knowingly.

"I think it's Jupiter's fault," Bella said flippantly. "He's a bad influence on poor Pluto."

Jasper cracked a grin. "You understand me, Bells."

"I try, Jazz. I try." Bella patted his hand.

Jazz returned to his look for random comets or stray Russian missiles from the Cold War. Or, since we were in Argentina, probably Chilean missiles. _Did_ Chile have missiles?

Oh, but I stray again. That tequila is starting to sit.

"And don't really succeed much," Bella added quietly, eyeing Jazz with an arched eyebrow.

"Yes, well, Jazz is up there with the mysteries of the world, you know like, who killed Kennedy and the secret ingredient of the Coke formula."

"Smashed nuts," she informed.

I crouched in front of her, my hands on her knees, uncrossing her legs. She cocked an eyebrow and glanced at me as she poured Jose Cuervo in two shot glasses.

"Really?" I asked.

"Hey, I'm a retired MI6 agent—believe me," she nodded positively.

I laughed and reached to grab the shot glass, slammed it back, then threw it on the table. Damn, this woman could hold her liquor. She didn't even wince at the burn of the tequila. I'd long since lost the ability to feel the burn in my throat. After the third tequila I suspect.

"Bella," I said, smiling up at her from where I was crouched. My fingers ghosted up her knees and under the hem of her airy skirt. New Year's in Argentina are unbearably hot, especially in Mendoza, or so I'd been told.

"Let's go upstairs," I said.

She looked at me from the corner of her eye, her lids heavy.

"I should expect you're not _propositioning_ me, Mr. Masen," she said calmly.

"Oh, not at all—I'm being rather blunt actually." I grinned. "How goes that song? Oh, yeah—'I wanna fuck you like an animal'," I sang.

She controlled her grin. I wrapped my hands around the underside of her knees and tugged so she slid forward on the chair a little. We were in public so I had to play nice, but I could still drive her crazy, stealthily.

"The party is young, Edward," she said, her voice falling an octave. Her eyes darkened as I caressed the outside of her knees and her legs parted instinctively about an inch.

"Bella, these people party until 8 in the morning," I replied. I glanced at my watch—2 o'clock.

Seriously, there were lots and lots of stuff that surprised me about Argentina, but the heaviest were the way they partied, and their speed limits.

Yes, their speed limits. In the routes, people drove at an average of 75 miles per hour. _Average._ Our guy Mario stole an easy 90 on straight flats. And this was the inner country—supposedly it was much, much calmer here than in the hectic capital city of Buenos Aires. We'd been there for three days on our way here, and let me tell you, New York has competition.

And their party? Right! They started at 6 in the afternoon, with beer. They went to the club at around 1, 2 in the morning, staid until 6 or 7. Then they went back home and kept drinking. Or, they went home. On the way they bought pastries, and then they sat outside drinking _mate_ until 9.

Now _mate_ deserves a whole paragraph to itself. It's this weird hot concoction/beverage/whatever that they drink in calabash gourd. You drink it through a kind of straw made of silver that they call _bombilla_ and you share it—as in the _whole fucking group_ shares it. They make a circle and drink and eat and just _are_ with each other. It's cute—in a disgusting, saliva-sharing kind of way. No thanks.

Emmett, Bella, Alice and Esme liked it. Carlisle was less willing to 'indulge in unnecessary unhygienic activities'. Jasper had come down with the flu and thought the better of sharing it. And me—no thanks, like I said.

I had actually thought that coming here would be just like being home. Argentina isn't all that far from home and all of the Western culture is rather similar. And it wasn't all that much different in the big stuff—they drank coffee (though there wasn't a single Starbucks in the entire country), they ate toast (toast with butter or marmalade—no bacon, no eggs, nothing fried, unless you specifically asked; they ate healthy), and they ordered take-out (though, of course, take-out didn't come even _near_ our hotel).

It was the little things that made the difference. The sitting around together and sharing _mate_. The kissing on the cheeks, every morning, every night, every hello and goodbye, and in the afternoon if it was the first time you ran into the person or the last that day. There was a close, easy proximity between friends; hugging, slapping, pushing, pulling. There was constant teasing, in good humor, of basically everything; they were playful and latched onto every single possibility to tease and mock. They didn't always mean it well, but then, I could give as bad as I got. And then some.

It just made you uncomfortable until you got used to it. I wasn't used to the way the guide just put his hand on my shoulder when he talked to me or to someone nearby, just there, offering company. Or how they just spontaneously smiled when they greeted you, amiably, even if they had never met you before. They had excellent non-verbal communication skills, and more than once you got a whole conversation in just their gestures and eyes; generally when they were laughing at you. And they tended to laugh at you, with you, without you, at each other and at themselves. They just teased, on and on and on…

But overall, it was a nice experience. People this easy and willing and _happy_ to get along with me provided little chances for me to be an asshole to anyone.

And then there was Bella.

Bella, who now leaned forward to smooth my hair back and place a sweet peck on my lips. Not exactly what I wanted at the moment.

"Alright," she said, smirking against my mouth. We stood at the same time and Bella grabbed my hand. I glanced to the dance floor. Emmett and Rose were busy with each other. Alice was dancing with a group of girls from Uruguay that she'd made friends with. I turned to Carlisle, deep in a philosophical conversation of some kind, no doubt brought on by both his and his counterpart's buzzed state.

At this point, we foreigners all had traces of blood left in alcohol streams instead of the other way around. One would think people from moderately warm climates had poor stomachs, but nope. These people drank wine like water and beer like soda. They started early, drank in pools and… never really stopped, shit.

I tapped Carlisle on the shoulder—were they seriously discussing _Thomas More_!? Give me a fucking break.

"Hey, Plato, keep an eye on Jazz. Make sure he doesn't topple over or… run away in search of proof of alien life or some such shit."

Don't laugh. He'd done it. Twice!

"Alright, good night, Edward," Carlisle nodded seriously. "Bella." Another grim nod. Damn. I guess Carlisle was a solemn kind of drunk bastard.

Bella tugged at my hand and we hurriedly went back to the lobby and up the wide stairs to the second floor. Club Hotel Hualum had no elevators. It was an adventure-tourism mountain hotel, so it gives to expect no one in wheelchairs will be coming along. In any case, they had ramps, on the bottom floor. Ramps were about the only thing they had on the bottom floor, actually. Ramps and display racks with chocolates and souvenirs.

So… yeah, if you had a wheelchair you couldn't go to the restaurant, the play-room or the common room or even have a bedroom, but… you could buy chocolates. If you had the money that is—they were expensive.

I yanked Bella by the arm and pressed her back against the door of our room as I grabbed the keychain from my jeans. She chuckled against my insistent lips and slipped her fingers through my belt loops, slamming our hips together. My erection was sudden and jolting. This woman could work me like few others had before her. I slid my arm around her back, tangled my fingers in her hair and pushed my tongue hotly into her mouth.

"Fuck!" I stuck the key in the door and struggled to open it as Bella pressed her thigh up against my crotch, rubbing deliciously. "Shit, Bella, damn it—I can't be _gentle_."

She chuckled and snaked her hand up my neck softly, until she reached my hair and yanked hard.

"_Shit. Fuck_." I said quickly and in a low voice, finally opening the fucking door. It slammed against the wall and I closed it immediately after walking through, pushing Bella hard up against the wood.

She was a wearing very feminine, airy gauze skirt of a deep blue, and a pretty white blouse with blue flowers in it, finished off with flat white shoes. I pushed the skirt up and she wrapped her legs around my hips. The blouse had to go, now. It wanted if fucking _off_.

But I slowed down—forced myself to behave more like a civilized human being. Or at least like a human being period. I mean she _knew_ me. Knew what I _was_. Knew what I _wasn't_.

I slid my hands slowly up the outside of her thighs, enjoying her incredibly soft skin. She ran her hands through my hair slowly, and kissed my forehead lovingly.

"Chickened out?" she teased good-humoredly, because whether I was making love to her slowly on a bed or fucking her over a couch, we enjoyed it all, and my moods swung easily. I could change in a heartbeat. I wanted to make lover to her now, kiss every inch of her, caress her smooth skin—as much as I wanted to rip her panties and ram into her against the door. _God_ she drove me crazy. It was a dichotomy so intense it burned my brain.

Like Alanis Morisette said: she was a lover, she was a bitch, she was a sinner and a saint, child and mother, hell and dream. And no—I wouldn't have it _any_ other way.

I loved her. She was mine. And she loved me back and that made me hers. We didn't love each other madly, recklessly. We had our feet on the ground and our minds straight. We didn't lose ourselves in one another.

And that was perfect. We were one and we were two—two separate entities and one at the same time. We had different minds and opinions, went different ways in lots of things and lived in a constant middle-ground born of love, agreement, and compromise. Sometimes we agreed to disagree, sometimes one of us gave and the other won, or the other way around. But giving and receiving was done in equal amounts from both of us _to_ both of us.

She put up with my still unresolved shit, and I put up with her lack of diplomacy and her tendency to face everything head on regardless of anyone's sensitivities. Neither of us was perfect, but we _were_ perfect together.

And we were together forever. I could make love or fuck her whenever I wanted to or however she wanted to. We had the rest of our lives. _Forever._

So, I decided quickly, I would make love to her later.

My hands tightened on her hips below the skirt.

"Made up your mind yet?" she breathed, tossing back her head as I attacked her neck.

I didn't answer. I could have told her to try to be quiet, but it was pointless for a number of reasons. She was always quiet. And it was New Year's. We could scream all we wanted—no one would look at us funny tomorrow. Or rather, later today, as it were.

Instead, I separated my torso from her for a second to undo the buttons on my shirt. She helped me quickly, and I rolled it off my shoulders and tossed it, forcing my fingers up her flat stomach under her blouse.

"I'll let you choose," I said. "Door or bed?"

She gasped as I pulled the blouse off her head, throwing it away. I reached behind her and undid her bra quickly, getting rid of it. I crushed her chest to mine, feeling her breasts squeezed between us with her breaths. I grounded my hips against hers, my erection pressing against her core, making her shiver.

"Shit, Edward—not the door. The wall," she hissed, grabbing my hair.

I complied, because after all, I'd given her the choice. I pressed her against me and turned, walking down the small corridor between the in-wall closet and the bathroom next to the door, and slammed her back against the wall in front of the huge, tall bed. I'm telling you, the size and height of that bed was ridiculous. It reached my hip. Really, it did. We'd tested it, her lying down and me standing.

I kissed her hungrily again, this time not even offering her control. Sometimes I offered it and sometimes she demanded it. Usually, I had it though. And this time I would be damned if I didn't use it!

I stroked my hands up under the curve of her ass, found the zipper of the skirt and pulled it down. I untangled myself from her so she could take off both the skirt and her panties. And she did, teasing me with her fingers and hands all the while staring me straight in the eyes. Once she was naked I brought her to me again, kissing her hard before whirling her around to press her back against my chest. Slowly, I reached up and moved her long hair over her shoulder, licking and biting her exposed neck as she braced herself against the wall.

She pushed back against my erection and it twitched. _Fuck!_ I held her hips steady and grunted.

"Shit. Hold still," I murmured in her ear.

She smiled, because she obviously knew what I wanted, and ground back again, making me curse.

"Make me," she teased, reaching back to caress the denim still separating us.

I growled. "Fine! Be like that," I bit out, snaking my arm around her waist to keep her stuck against me and pushed my right knee against the inside of hers so she would spread her legs a little wider. My right hand found her small breast and I rocked forward gently, letting her feel my erection against her ass. I palmed her breast and sucked her earlobe, tracing the shell of her delicate small ear with my tongue as my left hand lay flat but firm on her stomach, under her navel. I loved Bella's body, though she had several complaints about it. I loved her small breast and small round butt and I loved the fact that her stomach wasn't completely flat, but had a slight curve. It made her human and real. And I liked that she had put on weight since the rescue mission—she had been unhealthily thin; skin and bones only.

She moaned gently and gasped as I ghosted my left hand down further and cupped the apex between her legs. The heat and wetness there made my hips buck, but I restrained myself. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to be forceful or gentle so I settled for a nice middle-ground.

I slid my fingertips along her lower lips, stroking gently, teasing, and just barely venturing deeper, where I knew she wanted me the most. She pressed herself more into my chest, her breathing heavy, panting. I was breathing faster at this point too, and both our bodies were slick because of the night's heat, the dancing, the drinking and our passion.

Another thing Club Hotel Hualum didn't have—air conditioning.

It didn't matter. I could feel a diminutive pearl of perspiration rolling down Bella's spine and stopping against my chest where it broke against her skin. My own back was damp. My hair stuck to my temples and my neck.

I found her clit and touched it lightly. She rocked in surprise. I teased her right nipple, pinching and rolling the pert, little nub between my fingers while my erection pressed hard against her butt and my finger rubbed gentle circles on her clit. She lowered her head, her hair falling like a curtain in front of her, wet strands stuck to her neck. She gasped as I sucked her lobe between my teeth again, biting ever so gently. I loved that I knew how to play her so well. How to touch her, please her, _love_ her.

"Ungh, Edward…" she whispered in a breathy moan and I had to swallow hard to control myself. I was rock hard, for fuck's sake. I leaned closer against her and licked her neck, leaving her clit to insert a finger in her tight opening. She released a low whimper and I added another finger.

"Bella, shit, you're so wet," I groaned, pressing my forehead to her shoulder as I moved my fingers in and out of her, slowly at first before picking up speed. I met no resistance, she was so _slick_. I released her nipple for the moment so I could use my right hand on her clit. She shuddered violently and I knew she was close because her breathing was hitching and she was tensing up. I kissed the nape of her neck, and stroked her more roughly for a moment.

Then she came, hard, tensing around my fingers. I wrapped my right arm around her, holding her though her legs weren't giving way. When she finally came down, I gathered her in my arms and turned her around, kissing her passionately before lifting her up against the wall again. She wrapped her arms around my neck, bringing her lips close to my skin, running her tongue and teeth along the exposed column of my collarbone. It was all I could do to unbutton and unzip my jeans. She was working me into a frenzy and I desperately needed her to engulf me.

She moaned as I cursed when we finally came together inside her. I was the perfect piece to her puzzle. Her heat, the tightness, the wetness—I had to hold still and scramble to gather my wits again. She began to roll her hips gently, grinding against me, causing me to slam into her with force.

I could have gone slower, but frankly, I didn't _want_ to. It was never a problem for us to find release together or send the other over the edge first. Bella met me thrust for thrust with her hips, allowing me to go deeper, grabbing me tighter, making me curse under my breath.

This was the roughest we could be. I couldn't have angry sex—I had too many issues and I was too brusque. We'd done it only once, and the next morning, seeing the small bruises I had made on her arms, I didn't dare touch her for days. She kept telling me she was fine, but I refused to revisit the issue. I had felt horrible, and I _still _felt guilty.

Then again, I had a tendency to feel guilty about practically everything. It was one of the things I was working on with my therapist, and a matter Bella and I discussed often.

I also tended to think too fucking much, I told myself, when Bella tugged at strands of my damp hair.

"Breathe, Edward," she reminded me, kissing between my brows and pushing her hips away from the wall using her shoulders, causing me to thrust even deeper.

"Fuck!"

Grabbing her hips with my hands and helping her move, I began to feel the familiar burning in my thighs and abdomen. I was close, so very close. I pushed my forehead against the wall, panting against her shoulder. I felt her small blunt nails dig in the skin at my shoulder-blade and I knew she was close too. I snaked my hand between us and with a few light strokes, she came hard, clamping down fiercely around my cock.

I barked another 'fucking shit' for good measure, thrust a couple of times more and felt my balls contract as I exploded into her in several long, hard spurts. My knees gave out and I let us both fall, her back still against the wall. I pressed my forehead to the cool surface of the plaster, panting and trembling.

I drew back and kissed her, slow, sweet open-mouthed kisses, dragging my lips across hers. She sighed into my mouth, and her lips curled up.

"We're all sticky. Let's take a shower before bed."

I gently pulled away and out of her, wincing at the loss of her heat. I got to my feet and stumbled slightly, bracing myself against the wall. She turned to me immediately.

"Your knee?" She was concerned.

I shook my head. "I just bumped it against the ground. Nothing bad," I reassured her, lacing my fingers with hers, smoothing back her hair. "I don't know about the shower though. I might molest you again in there."

"There's a downside to this?" she asked coyly, wrapping her arms around my torso and hugging me tightly. She kissed the hollow between my collarbone and inhaled my scent—sweat, sex, man and Polo Explorer. She said she loved it, and who was I to disagree? She smelt fucking _amazing_ everywhere.

I relented and followed her to the shower. I personally disliked having sex under the water stream. It made for_ great_ foreplay, but the hot water decreased the natural lubricants, and having soap in your dick while sporting an erection was hardly _pleasant_, and besides, I always took too long and ran out of hot water. Sex under icy rain? Not great.

So we didn't fuck in the shower, but when we came out and we dried ourselves, I brought her closer. I had the towel wrapped around my waist, but I was already hard again.

"I think we need to make a good head start on the New Year," I breathed. "So I don't plan on sleeping until daybreak."

She grasped my wrist and looked at my watch.

"Then we better get a move on, lover boy. We have so many possibilities and _so_ little time," she smirked and tugged at the towel, dropping to her knees as it fell. Fuck it but I love this—

"Shit!"

The next morning, I sat at the table by her side, facing Emmett. Bella and Alice were having a conversation, leaning forwards in their chairs across Jasper who was leaning back and looked like he was an unlucky survivor of '_The Day After Tomorrow_'. I had a dull headache but it was bearable. Esme and Carlisle were still deciding what to have for breakfast, like it was the most important decision of their lives.

"So Bella," Emmett said, gaining her attention. "I noticed you guys disappearing off last night. Received the year like bunnies, did you?"

Bella blushed. Those blushes always made me want to throw her over something and ravish her, but I doubted our company would appreciate the display, so I limited myself to resting my hand on her thigh, drawing idle circles. Besides, we were at breakfast. A decent person would at _least_ wait till lunch.

I would say that the category didn't include _me_, but my therapist had prohibited that kind of snarky comments for the sake of my doubtful self-appreciation, so I closed down the thought right there.

"Well, let's just say we kept busy," Bella said, smiling.

"Yeah? With this guy, I don't know, Bella," Emmett smirked. "I think you may need to find yourself a _real_ man."

"Really?" Bella cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I agree. Let's swap tonight. I want Rose," I said flatly.

"Whoa, man! Watch it!"

"You mess with my woman, I mess with yours," I warned. I wasn't necessarily possessive and I was certainly not jealous, but I liked playing with Emmett because he was both. I didn't feel overprotective either because well, when your woman comes barging into a compound shooting the fuck out of people to get you out, you don't really feel the overpowering urge to fold your protective wings over her doubtfully frail frame.

Ah shit. I was hard again. I always got hard when I thought of Bella with her pistol.

"Never worry, Em," Rose smirked. "I like my men in the… larger size."

"Oh, I wasn't aware you knew the size of my man's dick," Bella said jokily, and bit into her toast.

"Emmett told me," Rose drawled.

I glared at Emmett. "You go through life telling people the size of my dick for any particular reason?" I arched a brow.

"I might have told a few paparazzi," he shrugged, smirking. "But I got good money for it."

"Why do you even _know_?" Alice asked, arching her brows.

Emmett and I shrugged.

"The guy that tells you he didn't measure his junk is lying. _Everyone_ measures it. And when you're cousins or close friends, you share the info. Don't you guys tell each other the size of your boobs or something?" Emmett asked.

"Yeah, but not the size and color of our privates," Alice snorted.

Emmett laughed out loud and I leaned forward to give Alice a shit-eating grin.

"Yeah, Alice? What color is it?"

We all burst out laughing as Alice grinned widely.

"Pink!" she said proudly. I looked at Jasper, his cheeks tinted very red like Bella's.

"Is it, Jazz?" I inquired, and he glared. "By the by, I don't know the size of _your_ dick—care to share?"

"What's pink?" Esme asked, sitting down next to Rose. A panicked silence befell the table. "I heard it from where we were, but I didn't have a chance to hear where it came from."

I grinned. "It's Rose's favorite color," I fibbed. "Wouldn't picture her for a pinkie, now would you?"

Esme blinked, turning to the blond. Carlisle's eyebrow was arched at an angle that let me know very certainly that he knew _exactly _what was going on around here.

"But you never wear it, dear," Esme said, confused.

Rose thought fast. "Emmett hates it," she sighed dejectedly. And the ball was passed.

Emmett choked on his coffee. He scrambled to defend himself. "Because it makes her look so… _pale_! Besides—it wasn't _me_ who said she shouldn't wear it! It was Edward."

The eyes fixed on me. I cleared my throat. "I don't know shit about fashion. I only followed Jasper's comment."

Jasper rolled his eyes, succumbing to the general scrutiny. "I was quoting Alice, man!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air.

Everyone shifted to Alice. "It's because Bella said she thinks pale blue looks better with the golden hair," she said without missing a beat.

Bella smiled sweetly. "Only because Rose and Carlisle have the same complexion and light blue looks good on _him_, so I thought it would on her too."

Nice deflection. Carlisle's brows fell to a straight line over half lidded eyes. "Now I understand parents complaining about their high-school children."

We went into another group laugh, and we were by far the noisiest table in the restaurant.

"Dude, I don't want to leave," Emmett said when we were all done laughing our insides out. "I wanna have salmon for breakfast for the rest of my life."

"You would; you _are_ a bear," I grinned.

He looked at me speculatively. "You gonna feed me salmon at your house?" he asked.

We were all going to spend a few more days at Masen Manor in Chicago. I'd asked Carlisle to help me with my parents' bedroom, to which I had not yet dare enter. Hell, Bella had sat with me for three hours in the car under the rain until I dared get inside the fucking house.

"No fucking way, buddy," I said coolly. "But I got tuna," I offered.

"You're so cheap, man."

"I am not cheap," I replied, smiling and arching an eyebrow. "You wanna know what else is not cheap? Salmon. Every day. For breakfast."

"One more thing that ain't cheap? An Aston Martin," Rosalie piped in. "You _so_ have to let me drive that baby, Edward. I will sell Emmett to you."

Emmett paused. "I feel cherished," he said in a dead tone.

"Thanks, already got one," I laughed. "But you can drive it anyway."

As Emmett and Rosalie embarked on a conversation about cars, I sat back and looked at all of them. Jasper with his fingers laced with Alice's in his lap. Carlisle sipping orange juice as Esme buttered toast for him. Rose smoothing back Emmet's hair with a loving smile.

Bella, looking back at me with her amazing, deep, endless chocolaty velvety eyes, her small mouth with full lips curved in a smile.

I was happy. Everything was _perfect_.

"You know," I said a little more loudly to get everyone's attention, still gazing at Bella. Her lips curved more, into a full smile now. "I think you should marry me."

She grinned. "Since you asked so nicely." And she kissed me.

And alright, fine—it wasn't _romantic_. I didn't go down on a knee and declare my eternal love and endless devotion and swear I would kiss the soles of her feet for the rest of our lives and most likely through Purgatory (because we were both going to hell—but hey, at least we were going together).

But this was me and this was Bella.

It was perfect.

And _then_ we were the noisiest table in Mendoza, if not in Argentina.


	17. OneShot: The Dragonfly

**Extract. The Dragonfly. **

**/Edward/**

Bella sighed and laid back on the deck, staring at the deep blue dome of the cloudless sky through her dark sunglasses.

I secured the last string keeping the major sail down and leaned against the mast, admiring Bella's long body as it lay under the sun, stretched and beautiful. I glanced at my watch—3 o'clock.

"You're gonna get a sunburn," I warned, walking over to her and sitting down at her side. I stretched out my legs and leaned back on my hands, letting my head roll back. I stared at the navigation instruments up at the point of the mast, enjoying the warm summer breeze.

"You're just saying that to rub sun lotion on me. Again," she teased.

"Yeah, I am." I grinned up at the sky.

Another sailboat, much smaller than my _Dragonfly_, passed by on our starboard side. I looked over at them and lifted my hand up high to acknowledge them like the seamen etiquette requested of me. Seamen—hehe... I am such a fucking teenager sometimes.

They didn't recognize me with the sunglasses on, thank god.

Then again, we had come to Sydney exactly so I wouldn't have to worry about being recognized. I still had no idea what the fuck had possessed me to allow the _Times_ and _People_ magazines to do notes on me.

Fucking _Cosmopolitan_ had asked for an interview. I swear if I wasn't in therapy already, that would have plunged me right into it.

I bent my left leg and pulled the swimsuit down to look at the old scars. The stab wounds had been deep, but clean. The scars were simple white lines, around five centimeters long and a few millimeters thick. I didn't mind them. The scar on the right leg was the same, only longer across the top of my knee. The one in my shoulder was a different matter. It was wide and the tissue was still thick and pink. I didn't like that one, or the one on the outside of my left arm where the metal shrapnel had lodged after the tank's explosion.

But, well—it could be lots worse.

Besides, the last thing I could do was mope and brood. I was in Sydney on a two mast, wooden sailboat with a gorgeous woman, soaking in the sun.

"What about spring in Greece?" I asked, tilting my head to her. She didn't respond, choosing to ignore my question. She hated when I lavished her. She'd just have to deal!

"I'm going to swim for a little bit," I announced, jumping to my feet and stretching. Bella nodded, acknowledging me this time. I chuckled.

I rested the glasses by her elbow on the deck and dove into the water. We were just outside the bay, where the water was cleaner and the boat traffic thin. I swam along the sailboat, inspecting the wood out of habit. The boat had been severely damaged in the years I had left it to rot alone in Greece, but I had invested an unnecessary amount of money in restoring it myself, wanting to do something with my own two hands. It was a gorgeous ship with graceful, elegant lines. Designed by Germán Frers especially for my father, it was a unique vessel.

I swam for a while, dipping under the water to run my hand over the smooth surface of the long keel. The Dragonfly had an exceptionally wide sail surface for a boat of its category; when I asked Frers about it, he said that my father had requested it to be especially fast and maneuverable. It _was_ amazingly fast, easily reaching thirty knots with frank winds and entire sail surface.

When I climbed back over the stern, shaking my head like a dog, Bella had left the deck. I checked my waterproof watch and realized it was dinner time. She was probably cooking below deck. I ran a hand through my wet hair to shake some more water away and went down the steps.

Bella was sitting cross legged on one of the side beds, sipping tea.

She looked up as I picked up the coffee pot, and I rested my hip against the sink, tilting my head.

I was glad to be able to have time alone with her. Running Masen Industries was more demanding than I had originally thought, though I liked doing it. And despite the fact that she had retired from the MI6, they still called her regularly to ask for her help with a particular case. Bella had a gift with deciphering clues, putting things together and linking separate facts. She was a Case Closer, and one of the best in the MI6. Now she remained on as a consultant, both for the SIS and the FBI.

Of course, I had been absolutely against any field missions where I wasn't allowed to accompany her. The FBI had been lenient about it and we'd had three field missions in the last two years.

It alleviated the boredom, I suppose.

My therapist kept complaining how I missed my appointments to 'run off and shot people', but I took my meds and kept my diary, like a good little boy, so he cut me some slack.

Bella tilted her head, and her eyes glinted in a way that I just _knew_ something was coming my way.

"You know, I like the way those trunks stick to your junk."

I choked on my coffee.

And I was hard, yet again.

Third time today and counting. Bitch was gonna win the bet.

"Fuck," I cursed, dropping the plastic cup in the sink and striding to her. I kissed her roughly, dipping my tongue inside quickly and tangling my fingers in the hair at the back of her neck. She moaned and lightly ran her knuckles over my erection through the wet trunks.

She bit my lip lightly and moved away. I meant to follow her, but she pressed her hand against my chest to keep me away.

"Take a shower. I'm not licking any part of your skin covered in salty water."

Just when I think I can't get any harder… I should know better by now.

I growled and pushed her back against the bed so she was lying down. I stood leaning over her and parted her legs, placing my thigh between them so that only my left knee touched the thin mattress between her legs. I slowly leaned down and rested my hand on either side of her head.

"Fine," I purred. "But fair is fair."

I snaked my hand down to her sex and stroked her through the bikini's panties, roughly. She shuddered and gasped, grabbing my shoulder. I kissed her hard and increased my rubbing. The panties were beginning to get wet, and I could feel the dampness through the cloth. I felt her shudder strongly again, kissed between her breasts and pushed off the bed. She wasn't anywhere near her orgasm. But I had gotten her started and we had strict rules—no masturbation for the entire duration of the bet.

"See you in a bit." I gave her a shit-eating grin, untying my trunks and shutting myself in the bathroom.

Taking a shower with a dick made of iron was a lesson in self-control. I enjoyed the warmth, though, and managed to not lose the bet by pleasuring myself. I dried myself off quickly and got out of the bathroom naked, because we all know where this was going to end, and I am nothing if not practical.

The bet had come up on the plane from NYC to Sidney, where Frers had left the _Dragonfly_ for me. I wanted to make an oceanic voyage in it from Australia to America with a group of other sailboats. It wasn't a race, per se; but sure, there _was_ an incentive to being the first one to arrive in New York City Bay. The voyage was made in the name of Caritas, the children's foundation my father had donated to all his life. There were thirty-six sailboats participating and you had to pay an entering fee of five thousand dollars in the smallest category. The _Dragonfly_ was _not_in the smallest category.

It was a voyage destined for the wealthy, obviously, and I was usually reluctant to participate in these kinds of things, but the mission was a good one and the activity was fun. It was an amazing opportunity to sail my father's boat after so many years.

I had forgotten my book at home and had nothing to read on the plane, so instead I turned to my other favorite activity in the world—annoying my wife. I said all the kind of things that I knew would get her horny. Halfway through the third hour of the flight, she got up and went to the bathroom. You can guess at what she was doing in there. When she returned, she was pissed. She pretended to trip on the aisle and sat on my lap, rubbing her butt against my crotch.

_Pop_—magic instantaneous erection.

And I was loud. I couldn't get off in the restroom without letting the _entire plane_ in on the secret.

We'd devoted the rest of the flight to getting each other flustered and not being able to do anything about it. When we got off the plane and started the process of going through customs, etcetera, etcetera, we made a bet on who was able to get the other flustered more times a day. No masturbation allowed.

So far, we were even.

She was waiting; leaning against the doorframe to the master bedroom, in one of her sets of deep blue lace underwear that she knew drove me nuts. The woman was a she-devil. Seriously, she was a fucking succubus.

Fucking succubus? Well yes. That's what succubus _do_. Remember the time I used to be able to think straight?

Yeah. Me neither.

"So, what's the game?" I asked, bracing my arms on the walls at my sides and leaning forward a little, smirking. "And why are you wearing underwear?"

"I thought we'd play a little sensory game this time," she said, straightening. "I'm going to go a little Dom on you."

I considered that, "Control games, Bella? I don't know…"

I was uncomfortable with these kinds of things. Trust was an issue. I trusted her—I wanted to trust her _fully_, but I simply didn't enjoy it. Bella rarely tried these kinds of things with me, though she'd eased me into it gently. I had no trouble with bizarre positions and places, but dress-up games made me awkward.

She never even mentioned tying me up because she knew that reminded me of Myr.

"Very light control games. Just blindfold," she said, coming over and rubbing my arm soothingly. "You know I'll never hurt you." She pressed her forehead to mine, caressing my cheeks.

I thought about it for a moment, and finally nodded. I laid down on the bed on my back, blinking fast. Bella straddled my stomach, kissing my lips and forehead delicately.

"I won't tie the scarf, alright? I'll just place it over your eyes and whenever you want to take it off, you can."

I closed my eyes and felt her place the delicate silk scarf over my face, caressing my skin like a whisper.

"I want you to try and keep your hands over your head, alright? I'm going to tease you with things and I want you to try and guess at what they are. If you guess right, you get to tell me where you want me to kiss you. If you get three right in a row, you get to kiss me. Alright?"

It actually sounded exciting. I had a very hard dick to prove it. I nodded my head, my jaw tense, and lifted my arms to rest my hand on the pillow above my head. Bella kissed my lips slowly and tenderly. She ran her hands slowly over my chest, soothing and gentle, relaxing me. I made an effort to breathe deeply and loosen up, unclenching my hands.

After a little while, Bella noticed the stiffness had faded and moved off my stomach. I missed her weight, but remained calm and still; relaxed.

"That's it, baby. You're safe with me."

I was safer with no one else, after all. I knew for a fact she would storm a compound, gun in hand, to save me. I knew that and it helped me relax more. I was safe, she would never hurt me. She would protect me, as surely as I protected her. My problem was I was a man of action, and relinquishing control came unnaturally. I needed to force myself to do it, and for Bella, today I would.

I heard her rummage through one of her drawers and waited. It was amazing how much more my other senses took over now that my eyes were out of the equation. I opened them to stare at the silk of the green scarf, a present from Esme for my thirty-second birthday, and closed them again when I felt Bella's weight return to the bed by my side.

"I'm starting off easy," she teased, a smile in her voice.

What she moved against the skin of my cheeks and lips was soft and delicate, tickling me. It ghosted down my throat to my upper chest and brushed over one of my nipples. I squirmed slightly and swallowed.

"A feather?" I questioned aloud.

"You can't ask. You have to state. And you only get one chance per item. But yes—it's a feather."

"What if I get it wrong?"

"Then you don't get your kiss," she smiled. "So, where do you want it?"

"Mm... Throat."

She pressed her lips gently over my Adam's apple, teasing it with the silken smoothness.

Then I felt something more consistent, cooler and smoother. It glided down my wrists and the insides of my arms, over my chest and stomach, teasingly.

"A silk scarf," I said, frowning slightly.

She laughed gently. "Where now?"

"Between my collarbones."

She pressed her lips to the little hollow between the long bones and the tip of her tongue darted out playfully. I gasped.

A moment later, I felt something cold and wet between my collarbones. So _cold!_ She dragged it down the center of my chest to my navel, and drew circles around it, dipping it in occasionally. I shuddered, growing harder, if even possible.

"Fuck. Ice cube," I rasped.

She laughed lightly.

I swallowed. "Right nipple."

Her lips encased my hard nipple, her tongue flicking it gently. I squirmed a little as she sucked, and cursed again. She lightly grazed it with her teeth. I cursed again, louder.

"So now you get to kiss me," she said.

"Your mouth," I said a little breathlessly, and felt her lips press over my mouth.

I deepened the kiss immediately, too aroused to be gentle. I played with her tongue, making her moan, seeking to work her up as much as I was.

"The next one," I breathed against her lips, "goes _lower_."

She moaned and moved away.

"Are you doing alright, then? Do you want to go on?"

I nodded, swallowing. I was so hard my dick ached and I could feel moistness on the tip.

"Are you wet?" I asked on impulse because I couldn't move my hands from where they were.

Her tinkering laugh caressed my ears. Her weight shifted in the bed and I felt her straddle one of my thighs. The heat of her skin burned me.

"Lift your thigh," she invited, and I did. I felt it settle snugly between her legs.

She was burning hot and very wet. I moved my thigh carefully, rubbing it up against her, and she moaned. Her hand rested on my stomach to support her weight as she gasped above me.

"Bella…" I rasped, fisting my hands.

"_Yes_…" she moan-gasped, breathless.

"Bella, let me move," I begged.

"Mmm, _yes_."

I threw the scarf off of my face and sat up immediately, grasping her waist and rolling her under me on the bed.

"Minx," I growled down at her, "I don't know how you manage to torture me like this."

"Because I love you," she replied, and surged her head up to kiss me deeply.

I returned the kiss fiercely, pressing her back to the pillows and forcing my thigh between hers and rubbing up roughly. She moaned loudly into my mouth and I dragged my lips down her chin and throat, between her breasts to her navel, and down, lower…

"Mmm…" she moaned, when I finally drew long, flat tongued laps over her clit. I pointed my tongue and dragged it between the folds, exploring everything and lapping up her wetness. She squirmed and parted her legs wider and I hummed against her.

I flicked her clit with my tongue a few times, inserting two fingers in her opening, and she came, moaning louder than ever. I helped her ride it out and then climbed over her, settling between her legs and pushing inside in one long, firm stroke. She arched off the bed, gasping.

"Shit. _Fuck_," I gasped. I grasped her right knee and draped it easily over my shoulder, gaining a new angle and thrusting in deeper. I reached between us to rub at her clit, thrusting roughly up in another angle.

She cried out and I grunted, cursing under my breath as she clenched around me.

"Bella…Bella…" I kept chanting her name quietly, and bucked forward brusquely.

She came, clamping down on my erection like a vice, quivering. I cried out and spilled in several long spurts, arching my back and throwing my head back. I collapsed on top of her, sliding a little to the side to let her breathe.

I kissed her temple softly, drawing her body closer to mine to snuggle. I was such a snuggle pup. We both were—we could stay in bed for hours in a row just resting and lying there together in each other's arms.

She pecked my lips and smiled.

"So the blindfold was tolerable?"

I laughed quietly, "More than tolerable."

"You lost it before I went through even _half _of the things I'd prepared."

"_I_ lost it? You were dripping against my thigh. It's all sticky."

"You want to see something sticky? No condom. _That's_ sticky."

I laughed and untangled myself from her, pulling out. I went to the bathroom, washed a hand towel with warm water and returned to clean her gently. I threw it in the laundry basket and stretched on the bed as she sat up and grabbed something from the shelf above the bed.

"By the way, lover mine, light of my eyes, husband beloved and blood of my blood, do you know what this is?" She dangled a blister of pills in my face.

My eyes widened. "Please tell me that's not a birth control pill you forgot to take because fuck, I'm not ready to be a fucking dad, no matter how many pills and fucking years of therapy I have on me, I fucking swear Bella," I said, panicking.

She scoffed unbelievingly. "Shut up, asshole. _This_ is a _sleeping pill_ you didn't take. Do I have to slap you?"

"Oh."I blinked. "No, sorry. I didn't do it on purpose. I really forgot."

She got up to get a glass of water. I sat up, put the pill on my tongue and washed it down with copious amounts of water like I had been told. I was being such a good boy!

Bella kissed my forehead and hugged me tightly as the pill began to take effect and I got drowsy. I needed the pill to sleep at least eight hours a day, the necessary amount of hours needed by the human body to function easily. If I slept any less, my mind went over things over and over again and that's where the shit started, because I started thinking of things I could have done differently…

And I needed a safe place to sleep; otherwise I didn't fall asleep at _all_. I needed to be absolutely, beyond a doubt, certain that I was safe. If I didn't, I had hell falling asleep and _if_ I _did_ fall asleep, I had nightmares, and woke up cringing and sweating, and panting.

I had all these issues—and Bella didn't give a shit. She was patient with me when I didn't like something we tried. She stroked my hair and cooed gently to me when I had nightmares.

"By the way, lover boy," she whispered lovingly against my ear as she held me, stroking my hair back. "You're one up and winning. From when you dove in the water earlier… and made me horny with your wet chest."

"I love you, Bella," I murmured sleepily.

She pressed her forehead against my temple.

"I love you too, Edward."

And I fell into a resting, dreamless sleep, aware only of her, next to me, holding me in her arms.


End file.
